Built for Sin
by ConnorCat
Summary: John Watson has never attened a private school before and will do anything to fit in. Sherlock Holmes isn't gay, until he meets John. Roland Perny wants John all to himself. But how far will he go to get what he wants? Teenlock AU. Slash and smut. Bullying. Dark content. Trigger warning: self harm/suicide.
1. Sherlock Holmes?

**Author's note: Hey, guys! I'm trying my hand at a long fic featuring John and Sherlock. It's a high school fic, and I've never written one before, so go easy on me! Also, I know nothing about London and yes, I am very aware that Swatchton Grammar doesn't exist. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this :)) Also, the title for this fic isn't fully decided yet. If you could help me with a title, that would be wonderful!**_  
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><p><em>"Good morning, London! It looks like it's going to be another cold day, so make sure you wear your scarves and coats! A high of seven degrees with shallow snow most likely clearing up by the weekend; be careful out there on the roads!"<em>

John swiped the snooze button on his alarm clock and continued to stare at the ceiling. He hadn't slept at all. His father had been promoted to Chief Director of Watson and Son's Shoe Co in London, so John had to say goodbye to his friends in Essex, pack his bags and relocate to the city. He was to start at the local college in Marylebone, Swatchton Grammar. But due to the moving process, he had to start during Spring Term in January, which meant everyone would already have their friendship groups formed. John just knew he would be a loner.

"Johnny! Come down and eat your breakfast!" his mother called.

John groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. He felt and probably looked like crap. His head pounded, his throat ached and his mouth was absolutely parched. Stumbling around his bedroom, he managed to pull on a pair of jeans so he wasn't attending breakfast in his underwear and trudged downstairs. The smell of his mother's famous Full English Breakfast was enough to make him vomit.

"Well, you look like shit." His sister Harriet said bluntly through a mouthful of toast.

"Harriet!" His mother scolded. "It's his first day of school!"

John took his usual place at the kitchen table and stared at an enormous plate of eggs, bacon, sausage and toast was waiting for him. His stomach coiled as his mother placed a mug of tea in front of him. _What if nobody talked to him? What if he got lost? What if, what if, what if..._

"Eat up! Today is a big day!" His mother smiled down at him.

His stomach lurched and he leapt from his seat, racing down the hallway to the bathroom where he gagged into the sink. Ever since he was a kid he had had anxiety issues. He was so desperate to please, no matter what the cost. Nobody knew the real him. The only person who came close, despite their constant rivalry, was Harriet. She knew he was gay. She knew that he wanted to become an Army doctor. And she knew that he had been learning guitar for the past four years. He trusted Harriet, especially with his sexuality. She was a lesbian. She'd known since she was ten and used to rate the girls in her class by how pretty they were. So when John came out to her, Harriet told him she already knew. She'd known since his eleventh birthday – the day he cried because his father bought him a mini motorbike instead of dance lessons.

"You alright, kid?" Harriet's voice asked from the doorway.

John glanced up from the sink, wiping his mouth. "Nobody is going to like me."

Harriet grasped him by the wrist and sat him on the edge of the bathtub. "What's not to like?" Her blue eyes were soft and kind as she spoke.

"What if they notice? What if I'm… you know… obvious?"

"You're my brother, and therefore I think you're an annoying little wanker. But if anybody gives you shit, I'll kill them. Especially if it's because you're gay. I went through that bullying in high school, and I won't let you be a victim as well."

John grinned. "You really don't hate me, do you?"

Harriet punched him lightly. "'Course I do."

John felt calmer after Harriet left. She always knew what to say. It wasn't always that way. When John was big enough to walk, she would always push him over or get him into trouble. She was jealous that she was no longer the only child. The rivalry continued as they grew up, but during adolescence Harriet grew softer as she watched him fight all of the teenage battles she had already been through. Now they were close in a sibling sort of way.

"Johnny, are you alright? Would you like to skip breakfast?" his mother called worriedly.

"I think I will skip breakfast, yeah." He called back. "I'm gonna get ready for school, okay?"

John showered and changed into his brand new uniform. During Spring Term he was to wear black dress pants, a blue knitted sweater with the school's emblem on it, a white shirt, a striped blue tie and black leather lace up shoes. The posh uniform felt strange. His old school uniform was merely colour coded and you could wear whatever you liked as long as it was within the code. A rush of home sickness spread through him.

As he combed his hair neatly, did up his tie and pulled on the navy school blazer, John inspected his appearance. His floppy blonde hair and laughing blue eyes went very well with the black, white and navy colours of his uniform, and he almost felt proud at how well it suited him. John made sure to have his top button on his shirt undone and his tie loosened slightly so he didn't look a "stereotypical gay" who wore the uniform perfectly. In the end, he decided he looked rather good and went down stairs to collect his school bag.

"Want me to drive you?" Harriet asked nonchalantly.

John smiled at her. "That'd be great; thanks."

He scooped up his school bag, heavy with text books, and prepared himself as his mother walked up to him. She took his face in her hands and smiled at him, tears in her eyes. John didn't think it was normal for his mother to be so emotional because it was his first day at a new school. Though, he imagined it had a lot to do with the fact that his father was away all day at work and she was going to feel lonely without Harriet who was going to University.

"Johnny, you look so smart in your new uniform. I'm so proud of you." His mother smiled.

John shrugged her off. "Mum, it's only my first day at a new school. I'm in year twelve for goodness sake!"

"I know, but it's going to be a big year!"

John kissed his mother on the cheek and turned to leave. "I'll see you when I get home, mum! Have a good day!"

As he clambered into Harriet's car and secured his seat belt, the anxiety began to kick in again. _What if the teacher's don't like me? What if I don't know how to do my work? What if, what if, what if..._

"Stop worrying, John, it will go fine. Everyone always likes you, you know that." Harriet said, slapping his thumb that he had been chewing.

"I know... But this is a posh, public school. There will be snobby, rich kids everywhere! I'm just an Essex boy." John bit his lip.

"Don't be such a cry baby, gay boy." Harriet joked.

John smiled a little and stared out the window at all of the big buildings that scattered the street. As a city and the capital of England, London had nothing but big buildings and suburbia. John wasn't used to it. It was so different to home.

Harriet's car turned into Edgware Road and John could see Swatchton Grammar up ahead. He gulped as he saw the enormous building looming over the street. There were multiple other small buildings scattered around it and John didn't even want to imagine how many were hiding behind it.

It was very modern looking and had probably hundreds of windows, making John wonder how many flights of stairs he would have to climb all day every day. Hundreds of adolescents were filing into the large courtyard out the front of the building in the school colours. Some were playing in the snow together, whilst others hurried into the building to escape the frosty, January morning.

Before John knew it, Harriet's car had pulled up outside Swatchton Grammar. He felt his heart rate increase and started to sweat for the thousandth time that morning. _What if he couldn't find the bathrooms?_ _What if he had P.E today; he didn't have his uniform! What if, what if, what if..._

"Here you are, gay boy." Harriet smiled at him. "Now remember, public schools have plenty of hot, posh boys, so you gotta try to keep it in your pants!"

"Sod off, Harry!" John retorted, blushing furiously.

She waved as he got out of the car, and almost instantly drove off in the direction of her University. John turned to look at the huge school before him and began biting his lower lip nervously. He could see a sign pointing to the right side of the building saying "Administration" and took brave steps towards it. There was one other student heading in the same direction and John instantly froze on the spot. _What if the student noticed he was gay? What if the student harassed him for being new? What if, what if, what if..._

"Hey! Hey you!" An unfamiliar voice called from behind him.

John turned slowly to see a boy that looked his age jogging over. He was wearing the uniform perfectly, with iron creases in his pants and the tidiest tie John had ever seen in his life. The boy had black hair parted down the middle and was smiling widely, showing off a dazzling set of pearly whites. Some snow was caught in his hair and John didn't think he had seen anything cuter. He blushed instantly at the thought.

"Hey," the boy caught up to him, panting. "Are you new?"

"Yes... Yes, I am. Just moved here and so I had to start during Spring Term."

The boy grinned. "Well obviously."

John mentally face-palmed. "Oh... Yes, of course... Sorry... Um, I'm John Watson by the way."

"Roland Perny. Shall we go to admin and see which home class you're in?"

John nodded, feeling calmer and followed Roland toward where administration was. He couldn't help but feel a little smitten and pleased by the fact that he had already sort of made a friend. This Roland seemed to be a lovely person, thoughtful and helpful, and extremely cute, too.

_Shut up!_ John thought. _I'm not allowed to think anyone is cute yet! _

As he followed Roland into the administration department, the first thing that came into view and earshot was another student standing at the front desk abusing the receptionist. He was tall, incredibly thin and seemed to have dark curly hair.

"I don't care if the other home classes are full; I can't be in the same one as Perny!" The student spoke with a cold, baritone register. "I know I started during Spring Term, but I am sure you are very aware as to why and quite frankly, Perny will most likely ensure that happens again."

John was shocked and whispered, "Who's that? And why doesn't he like you?"

"That's Sherlock Holmes. He's a complete and utter freak. My friends and I like to bully him because he's a faggot. He once got caught wanking in the change rooms directly after seeing me in the showers. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from him." Roland replied coldly.

John was sure his face had paled; Roland didn't like gays. He hoped that he wouldn't be too obvious in front of him…

He turned his attention back to Sherlock. The receptionist was gone and Sherlock was standing in the same position as before, running his fingers through his thick curls, whispering cuss words to himself. He must have lost this battle.

Abruptly, he turned around and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw John and Roland standing together. This gave John the opportunity to examine his appearance. Pale skin and a slender face. Dark curls long enough to fall over his eyes. From a distance John could see that his eyes were grey or blue. He also had very high cheek bones that stood out distinctively. John couldn't help but think that Sherlock Holmes was quite attractive in a mysterious sort of way and felt his face flush.

"Holmes," Roland said in an unfriendly manner.

"Please, Perny, don't speak; you're probably lowering the new student's IQ." Sherlock replied just as icily, heading toward the door.

"Faggot," Roland hissed.

Sherlock acted as if it didn't bother him and continued to walk out of the building. John was very surprised at how the student's had acted toward each other. He thought that private school's were all friendly toward each other and were a safe environment. At least, that was what the brochures and television advertisements had told him...

Roland continued to introduce him to the receptionist who gave John his timetable and informed him that he would be in the same home class as Roland. He had the subjects Biology, Chemistry, English, Physical Education and History; lessons he all enjoyed.

In home class, John was introduced to Roland's group of friends; Jakob, Lachlan, Molly, Sasha and Jonathon. They were all rich kids with snobby mannerisms, but were kind to John and so he wasn't particularly fussed with that just yet. He also noticed Sherlock Holmes was in his home class, sitting alone at the back of the room, his head buried in a book. Nobody spoke to him, and he made no move to speak to anyone either.

After John's home class teacher, Mr Rogers, checked attendance and the students chatted amongst themselves for a while, the bell for morning lessons sounded and everybody began to file out slowly. Roland motioned for John to follow him, but he felt as if he needed to wait for Sherlock who was still sitting alone in his seat, motionless.

"I'll catch up with you, later, okay?" John called. "I'm just going to talk to Mr Rogers for a second; introduce myself properly."

Roland shrugged and waved as he went off with his group of friends, leaving John alone in the classroom with Sherlock and Mr Rogers. The teacher smiled at John as he left the room and abruptly, John was completely alone with Sherlock. He looked over at the bizarre boy who was slowly getting up from his seat, staring down at the ground or anywhere but where John was standing. Puzzled, John ventured closer until he was standing before Sherlock who looked up, startled.

"Hello," John smiled warmly. "You probably heard before, but I'm John."

Sherlock didn't answer at first, just began to pack up his things into his satchel. John watched as he began tidying his uniform; first straightening his tie and then finishing by running a hand through his unkempt curly hair. Eventually, he fixed his eyes onto John's and he could see the faintest evidence of Sherlock's pupil's dilating and his cheeks becoming pink.

"Sherlock." He finally said.

"Do you have Biology first? Would you mind showing me where it is?" John asked, trying to be friendly.

Sherlock pushed past John and spoke over his shoulder. "If you're going to be friends with Perny, you can't associate with me."

John stood there watching him go, his mouth hanging open. How could anybody be so rude? He was just being polite and requesting help, and Sherlock had thrown it back into his face! With a huff, John readjusted his school bag and left the classroom feeling offended and angry. He was determined to make Sherlock talk to him; he didn't care what Roland thought. Sherlock Holmes needed a friend, and John Watson was going to make sure that he played that role.


	2. Lab Partners

**Author's Note: Recently updated this chapter. All chapters are in the process of being edited. And chapter 10 is on it's way (very slowly).  
>Slight porn in this chapter, i.e. wanking ;D also dark themes. Trigger warning.<br>Enjoy.**

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><p>Sherlock began walking to his Biology classroom as fast as he could. He was lucky to only just escape having an actual conversation with another human being that wasn't Mrs Hudson. The fact that the new student, John Watson, had willingly waited behind for him at the end of home class and then tried to converse with him was still greatly puzzling him. Nobody ever spoke to him, so why was John different?<p>

Shaking his head, Sherlock proceeded to delete the previous encounter from his "hard drive" and pushed open the door to Laboratory #2. The class had filed in quite some time ago and already begun the lesson. Mr Chilton looked up from his desk as the door closed behind Sherlock noisily and grunted disapprovingly. Sherlock was always late to any of his classes because he truly could not be bothered attending any of them. He was very studious and intelligent, but he considered lessons pointless and a bore.

"Late, as usual, Holmes," Mr Chilton said gruffly. "Take a seat and copy the notes on the board."

Sherlock did not acknowledge his teacher and took a seat at the lab station in the farthest corner. As he unpacked his satchel and opened his exercise book so it looked like he was actually working, the door opened a little too loudly and then slammed shut. Sherlock didn't bother to look up at who had just entered and to be perfectly honest, didn't really care either.

"Do you have any idea of how late you are, young man?" Mr Chilton practically yelled.

A familiar voice stuttered, "I-I'm so sorry, sir. I'm a new student and had no idea where I was going..."

As the words "new student" passed through Sherlock's ears, he slowly lifted his head to see John Watson standing at the front of the lab cradling text books against his chest. Sherlock could tell by his body language and flushed face he was incredibly nervous and embarrassed, making Sherlock guess that the young student had social acceptance issues that most likely led to anxiety. He watched, interested, as John shook hands with Mr Chilton and continued to splutter apologies for being late.

"Class, this is John Watson, a new student that we have this year." Mr Chilton announced, sounding only half interested. "Why don't you tell us about yourself?"

Sherlock was barely listening as John began to talk about coming from Essex and wanting to become an Army doctor; he was inspecting John's appearance properly. He had had only little time to actually look at him in home class, which disappointed Sherlock immensely, as he hadn't been able to map him out, document him and then keep the information stored in his hard drive.

First, Sherlock studied John's face and head. He had his hair cropped short so that it rested just above his ears, but still had a small amount of thickness to it. It was a dirty blonde colour and incredibly floppy looking, with a small chunk hanging loosely just above John's eyebrow. Sherlock could tell from a distance that his eyes were blue, but what particular shade he wasn't able to determine just yet; he assumed a medium to dark blue, like cerulean.

"My dad owns the company Watson and Son's Shoe Co..."

_Yes, yes, John. Very interesting, John. Please stop talking whilst I am trying to inspect your appearance, John. _

Sherlock continued his inspection. John had a small nose which almost meshed into his face; possibly from an injury? His skin was lightly tanned. Possible holiday? Meaning he had a rich mother or father. He also had the darkest pink lips that Sherlock had ever seen. They were plump, with no chaps in them. Sherlock suddenly found himself wondering how John's lips would feel against his own and mentally slapped himself.

_No, Sherlock; you are _not_ gay. Do you hear? You are not. _

But it seemed that John Watson was; or at least Sherlock assumed. There were so many signs. John had his hair combed perfectly. Given his past residence in Essex, it could be generally stereotyped that his hair would be messy, but not a single strand was out of place.

His skin looked frequently moisturised and looked after, and his lips clearly had special attention given to them as well. Sherlock could see that John was wearing his uniform quite tidily, apart from his top button on his shirt being undone and his tie loosened. Sherlock had read in lots of places that closet gays liked to do this so they did not look a stereotypical gay.

After Sherlock had gathered the information he thought he needed, he focused on his exercise book again. Quite abruptly, he felt heat being transferred onto him as somebody took the next seat. Sherlock felt butterflies forming in his stomach. But then reminded himself that he wasn't attracted to John and felt, well frankly, incredibly pissed off. Nobody ever sat next to him, no matter what the occasion. He was the "school freak" that nobody liked and constantly bullied. Quite honestly, he enjoyed and preferred the solitude he incessantly had. If no one bothered him, he was able to think properly without distraction and actually get things done.

Sherlock faced John, who smiled at him. "What are you doing?"

John rolled his eyes. "This isn't primary school. If I want to sit here, I will."

Sherlock scowled. "I sit on my own. I don't need people like you distracting me."

John blushed and looked away. Sherlock ignored him, smirking at the fact that John had just majorly given himself away as a closet gay. He didn't blame John for being so afraid of his sexuality being revealed, though. If any of the boys discovered that he was gay, especially Perny, John would be beaten to within an inch of his life.

"Sherlock, have you copied down the notes?" Mr Chilton asked, seeming irritated. "Your book looks blank to me, and I've just erased them all."

"I have, sir." Sherlock responded, scribbling on a blank page.

"Will you please show me, then?"

Sherlock sighed and stood up from his seat, pointing to his temple. "It's all up here, sir."

Mr Chilton scoffed. "I am not falling for that, Holmes."

Grinning widely to himself, Sherlock then recited every single note that had been on the whiteboard with unbelievable accuracy. The entire class swivelled in their seats to stare at him, gobsmacked. Sherlock couldn't help but smile widely and properly, feeling very pleased with himself.

Murmurs of "freak" and "he is such a weirdo" could be heard, and Sherlock felt his smile falter. He was usually made of steel when it came to being insulted, but sometimes, just sometimes he wished that people could praise him for his skills, even if they were a little abnormal.

"H-how, how did you do that?" Mr Chilton demanded.

"It's called an eidetic memory, sir. It's a genetic mutation that I was born with. I also have a phonographic memory; I can remember everything I hear, too." Sherlock answered quite proudly.

"That... Was amazing," John murmured.

Sherlock felt warmth rush through his heart at John's admiration and almost smiled back, but then again reminded himself for the umpteenth time that he was most certainly not gay nor attracted to John.

Instead, he simply glared and sat back down. Mr Chilton seemed to have forgotten about Sherlock's intelligent outburst and was jabbering on about the diffusion of nutrients from the small intestine across the bloodstream.

Sherlock yawned and stared out the window at the large football field. A group of male students were running around in their short P.E bottoms and tight t-shirts, outlining all of their most attractive physical features. Sherlock couldn't help but stare and almost yelped in surprise when he felt an erection growing within his pants. He felt disgusted with himself and his body. He didn't like men, so why was this happening?

"Hello, Earth to Sherlock?" John's voice faded in.

Sherlock shook his head clear and faced him. "What?"

"You are so rude," John huffed. "Mr Chilton just said we're lab partners for this semester. Everyone has been assigned permanent ones."

Anger spread through Sherlock's body. "I am _not_ working with you."

"Yes you bloody are," John whispered angrily. "You are like a child. Grow up; you're only embarrassing yourself."

Sherlock had absolutely nothing to say back to that. Glowering, he packed up his books into his satchel and rose from his seat. He couldn't stand to be in the same room as John Watson anymore; he infuriated him so much! Sherlock was mostly angry at himself for not being able to figure out John so easily, but he also, quite immaturely, felt angry with John for being so difficult to read and understand. He was supposed to be the anxious new kid!

"Where do you think you are going?" Mr Chilton shouted.

Sherlock ignored him and left the laboratory, absolutely fuming. Who did John Watson think he was? Just waltzing into a public school like this and acting as if he were so much better than Sherlock; calling him a child! Well, he would show John Watson, alright. He was no child. Sherlock knew that his Asperger's Syndrome would often get the better of him, making him behave in a childish manner if he didn't get his own way, but he most certainly _was not_ a child himself.

Deciding that the rest of the entire school day was rather pointless anyway, Sherlock took the five minute walk from Swatchton Grammar to his home, 221B, on Baker Street. It was a 2 bedroom flat with a small kitchen, bathroom and lounge suite. The building itself had seen better days, and so had the inside of it, but it was what Sherlock called home; he couldn't ever imagine moving away from it.

He stormed into the flat. "Mrs Hudson, I'm home!"

Mrs Hudson was Sherlock's adopted mother. He and his older brother, Mycroft, had been abandoned after Sherlock's birth and Mrs Hudson had saved them from being stuck in that God awful orphanage forever. She raised Sherlock and Mycroft like no other mother Sherlock had seen in his life. Mrs Hudson had patience, was beyond kind and had an infinite amount of love to spread.

Although she was his adopted mother, Sherlock still refused to call her "mum". When she had her first meeting session with Sherlock and his brother before the adoption process started, she had introduced herself as Mrs Hudson, and the name was locked into Sherlock's brain. She was Mrs Hudson to him and always would be, no matter how much he loved her like his own mother.

She appeared in the hallway. "Already, Sherlock? But it's not even noon yet!"

Sherlock was feeling incredibly sulky and stomped into the lounge suite where he plonked down on the sofa with a childish moan. He felt Mrs Hudson sit down beside him and put her arm around his shoulders, nestling his head against her bosom. He almost immediately felt comforted and stuck his hand out to curl it around her woollen jumper fondly.

"What's the matter, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked, stroking his hair. "Are those boys harassing you again?"

"No, they're stupid," Sherlock sulked. "I have to work with someone I don't want to work with in Biology!"

"Oh, you silly thing! Why don't you want to work with them?"

"Because I don't understand him! I can't read him! He doesn't make any sense!"

Mrs Hudson chuckled a little and kissed the top of his head. "I think you are behaving very silly right now, Little Locky. You ought to at least give the poor boy a chance. Who knows; over time you might come to understand him better."

Sherlock thought about this for a moment. Perhaps Mrs Hudson was right. If he and John had to spend time together doing Biology work, it would give him a lot of opportunities to ask questions and deduce him. Sherlock liked this idea; he liked it very much. He also, surprisingly, really liked the idea of spending quality time with John and getting to know him. He was such an attractive –

_NO! No, no, no, no, no! He's not! Stop it, Sherlock! _

Sherlock stood. "I'm going to my room. I might play my violin, so please don't bother me for the rest of the day."

Mrs Hudson smiled at him adoringly and shook her head, heading into the kitchen where she would no doubt start preparing him something for lunch despite his request to be alone. He couldn't help but feel love flood through him as he watched his adopted mother go off. She spoiled him rotten; Mycroft, too.

Mycroft was six years older than Sherlock and had a job working for the Government. Sherlock had no idea what his position was exactly, or what he did, but he did know that Mycroft was very nosy and incredibly annoying. For some reason, he expressed an over the top general concern for Sherlock, which led to Mycroft visiting him once every week to make sure he was "doing well". He was such a strange person that sometimes Sherlock would laugh to himself when he got bullied at school for being a "freak". _"They should meet Mycroft,"_ He would think, chuckling.

Upon entering his bedroom, Sherlock went straight to his desk to log onto his laptop. He had made the decision this morning in the administration department that he would search John on Facebook to see if he could find anything out about him that he didn't already know.

As he waited patiently for his laptop to load, Sherlock plucked lazily at his violin, making whatever music that could be produced from this method. After a few minutes of his violin sounding like a cat being run over, Sherlock's laptop had finally come to life and he logged into his Facebook account. His "acquaintance" and possibly only friend, Greg Lestrade, had convinced him to make his account so he would seem a little more "normal". But doing so only encouraged the students at school to cyber bully Sherlock.

Sherlock typed "John Watson" into the search bar and instantly found his profile. Clicking on it, Sherlock was greeted with an adorable – _no, not adorable!_ – photo of John in his casual clothes of jeans and a woollen sweater. He had his arm around a girl who seemed to be older than him by a few years. She had short, black hair and a face full of metal; tagged as "Harry Watson". Okay, so John had a sister, who seemed to almost definitely be a lesbian. Continuing his "stalking", Sherlock clicked on the "info" section of John's profile and skimmed his interests, music/movie/TV show preferences and his "bio". The only information he got out of this was that John liked rock bands such as Linkin Park and System of a Down, watched awful television shows such as Doctor Who and was a huge Star Wars fan. His "bio" section was short and simple:

_Hey, I'm John! I'm 17, single, and ready to mingle! ;)_

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the statement he had just read. He assumed that somebody had either made that for him, or John was writing it to fit in with the rest of the crowd. Either way, Sherlock still thought it sounded ridiculous. But he continued to look at John's profile anyway.

After looking through John's friends list and stalking his wall to see what sort of things he posted, he clicked "add as a friend" and then proceeded to look through John's photos. It surprised Sherlock that John would leave his account on the setting of "public", though John did seem the naive type.

There weren't many pictures in John's photo albums, mostly ones that someone else had taken and tagged him in, or pictures of John and his family. Sherlock was beginning to find it quite boring until he stumbled upon a single photo of John and his friends from Essex. They were at the swimming pool, all posing for the camera in their board shorts and nothing else.

Whilst Sherlock was finding himself to be very distracted by the fact that John was topless, with an amazing body, that wasn't what stood out to him. Sherlock studied the photo intently, and could see that John was staring at the friend to the left of him... And had a huge erection. It was barely visible to the normal eye, but Sherlock could see it clear as day.

He felt his face flush and immediately forced himself to look away. Strange feelings that he wasn't used to were flooding through his brain and body, feelings that he seemed to be... _Enjoying._ He could feel his penis hardening as he thought of the photo of John and his friends, and instinctively tried to calm himself. These thoughts about men he was having weren't normal! But Sherlock's crotch wasn't listening to him, becoming more and more erect by the second. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed; what was he supposed to do when this happened? He had heard other boys at school talking about it in the locker rooms before, but Sherlock didn't think he could ever touch himself in that way. He felt that relieving himself like that was so dirty and greedy.

After five minutes of trying to calm himself down, Sherlock's erection still hadn't gone away. He knew that he just couldn't control this urge and need for release and hesitantly popped the snap on his pants. He tried to relax and slowly reached into his pants, his hand brushing against his hardened shaft. A shudder ran through him; he didn't think it was going to feel quite like this. His penis twitched as if demanding more, and Sherlock obeyed, giving himself a rough squeeze.

"F-f-fuck," he moaned.

Sherlock continued to squeeze himself for a few moments until his need for release was becoming unbearable. In lightning speed, he reached into his boxers and gripped his shaft. This was all so new to Sherlock; he had only ever touched himself there if it was in the shower, and even then he felt dirty. But this felt _so good_, and he couldn't believe that he hadn't ever tried it before.

Staring at John's pool photo, Sherlock started rubbing himself. At first, he thought that he was going to finish in a matter of seconds, and slowed down his hasty movements to small strokes. "Photo John" was still rock hard and Sherlock couldn't help but imagine him without those board shorts on. He couldn't help but think about John sitting between his legs and replacing Sherlock's hand with his own. He knew just how dirty and disgraceful his thoughts were, but the pleasure he was feeling was too good for him to bother to care.

Sherlock was getting close now. His breathing was becoming erratic and his moans more and more audible. He gripped himself as tightly as he could handle and rubbed aggressively, still picturing John in between his thighs.

Abruptly, Sherlock's entire body began to tremble and he wasn't entirely sure what happened because his mind went blank and he swore that stars had blinded his vision. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, and his forehead was sweating profusely. Coming back down to Earth, Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down to see ejaculate all over his hand, boxers, trousers and even his floor.

Horror and guilt swept over him. "Oh my God... What have I done?"

Sherlock immediately felt completely and utterly disgusted by what he just performed upon himself. He had given into temptation, something he had promised himself he would never do. All of the boys at school who bullied him did that, and Sherlock hadn't wanted to stoop to their level. What made things worse, was that Sherlock had done it whilst fantasizing about _another boy._ How entirely repulsive! He was a fag! Sherlock Holmes was a gay little fag, and a faggot and a butt-pirate. He was a disgrace to humanity and society and Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted to live with himself anymore.

With tears spilling down his cheeks, Sherlock pulled up his pants and dropped to his knees in front of his bed. He reached underneath it and retrieved a small tin box labelled "SHERLOCK'S PUNISHMENT". Opening it, Sherlock again felt guilt and shame wash over him as he realised what he was about to do, despite having promised himself and Mrs Hudson that he had stopped completely many months ago.

Tonight, Sherlock picked his traditional tool, and held up a large razorblade in front of his eyes. He rolled up his left sleeve and again felt guilty as he saw the hundreds of scars already decorating his forearm from the past when he would punish himself. He would punish himself for a wide variety of different things. He would punish himself for getting lower than an A in a subject, for yelling at Mrs Hudson when he was frustrated, for thinking about men and sometimes even for being so ugly.

Sherlock's "punishment box" contained a dozen different razorblades, needles, scissors, knives, rubbing alcohol to make his veins prominent, bandages, gauze strips, sewing needles, synthetic thread for stitches and bandaids. He had decked out his entire body in possibly thousands of scars. Some were big and deep, others were small and shallow. Some were straight cuts and others were words. Some had patterns that looked like rungs of a ladder, whilst others were random and all over the place.

Sherlock pressed the razorblade down over an old scar and ripped it across his skin, seeing the blood erupt from the wound almost instantly. Despite how much he knew that it was hurting Mrs Hudson and even himself, he continued cutting. It made him feel better in the sense that he felt like he was releasing all of the negative things from himself.

He began to feel the familiar adrenaline rush that came with cutting and virtually went into a self-harming frenzy. He cut into his arms, his chest, his stomach and his legs. Most of the wounds were deep and simple, straight cuts. Blood was smeared all over his skin and starting to form a pool around him where he'd carelessly let it drop to the floor. His uniform was completely soiled and he knew he would never get all of the blood out of it.

It wasn't long until Sherlock felt himself growing dizzy and light headed. He had lost a ridiculous amount of blood from all of his harming and would most likely need stitches. He hoped that Mrs Hudson would not walk in on him and he would be able to stitch himself up after he could think straight again.

Just thinking about her made Sherlock weep again, and he pressed his razorblade down once more to mark the words "FAGGOT", "IM SORRY" and "HELP" onto his skin.

He knew he was on the verge of passing out from blood loss, and so Sherlock laid himself down onto the blood stained carpet and closed his eyes. All he could remember after that were the faded cries of Mrs Hudson and an ambulance speeding up his street. And then he blacked out.

* * *

><p>He felt groggy. Incredibly groggy. His brain pounded heavily as if he had just been given anaesthetic for an operation. His entire body ached and he could hear multiple beeping noises.<p>

Sherlock opened his eyes to pitch black and felt panic take over his body and mind. He had no idea where he was or why he was there. He didn't know why he was lying down or wrapped in what seemed to be blankets. When he reached out, he was blocked by something metallic and cylindrical. The headache he was experiencing made it impossible for him to deduce anything of what was going on.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted desperately. "PLEASE, MRS HUDSON!"

Abruptly, light flooded into the room. Sherlock opened his eyes again to see his beloved adopted mother had her arms wrapped tightly around him. He sobbed gently into her hair, not understanding a single emotion that he was currently feeling. Sherlock felt afraid, _very afraid_. The room around him was pure white. The walls, the floor, the chairs, the sink, and even the television.

Mrs Hudson hushed him in between her own tears and rocked him gently like a small child. Sherlock opened his eyes again, only to look down at himself. He was dressed in nothing but white and appeared to be sitting in a bed with white bed sheets that were covering his body tightly. Sherlock began to wonder if he was dreaming, until he stared down at his left arm and saw that it was almost completely bandaged up and covered in red stains.

"I did it again..." Sherlock whispered.

Sherlock lay in his hospital bed with his adopted mother for what seemed like hours, simply blubbering apologies to her. He needed to stop this, and he needed to stop this now.

As he began to grow tired, Sherlock rested his head on Mrs Hudson's shoulder and stared out at the doorway. His eyes drooped and for a moment, he could have sworn that he saw John Watson standing there. He snapped his eyes open, but it was only a nurse coming to tell Mrs Hudson that she needed to let Sherlock rest. Sherlock thought that it might have been wishful thinking and then slowly but surely, drifted off into a deep sleep.


	3. No Homework

**Author's note: I need to apologise for this chapter, as it is atrocious. But I promise you the next chapter is much better (I am almost finished), and full of fluffy goodness. Please feel free to hate me for this chapter D: But yeah. Here it is.**  
><strong>Disclaimer: Not mine.<strong>

* * *

><p>Sherlock hadn't been at school for a whole two weeks, and frankly, John was beginning to feel concerned. Not because he needed Sherlock's brains to help him with the work in Biology, but because he was generally worried. He didn't know why, but something inside John was begging him to find out exactly why Sherlock had been absent for so long, especially after the first day back to school. What if something had happened to him? What if Roland and his friends had beaten him or something? They had before. So John made it his own business to ask Roland and the others if they had heard anything before he started to go insane.<p>

As John made the twenty minute walk to Swatchton Grammar, he checked his Facebook account on his phone for the fifth time that morning. He had been religiously checking it each day since Sherlock had added him as a friend, hoping that the missing student would reply to at least one of his many apprehensive inbox messages. It was the very day after Sherlock had added John that he began messaging him. Noticing his disappearance, the inboxes started out as _"Hey, where are you today?"_ and then slowly built up to _"Sherlock, you've been away for a week now... Are you okay? Shall I bring you our Biology assignments?" _Sherlock had ignored all twenty of John's messages, and he couldn't decide if it was Sherlock being his usual arrogant self or if something bad had happened to him.

John hit refresh on his phone and had to stop for a moment to make sure he had seen right. "Sherlock Holmes" was highlighted in bold with the symbol (1) next to it, showing clearly that John finally had a response. Adrenaline rushed through him as he anticipated Sherlock's reply and manoeuvred his phone's mouse so he could open it.

_John.  
>I have been absent from school for the past few weeks because I have been in hospital. Don't bring me any homework.<em>

_SH_

Hospital. Sherlock Holmes had been absent for two weeks of school because he was in hospital. What the bloody hell had he been doing there? If John had been worried before, he was officially beginning to freak out now. What was Sherlock doing in hospital? Was he okay? Did something happen to him? Did something happen to one of his family members? Was he still in hospital? When was he going to come back? John had a million and one questions for Sherlock, but he didn't want to sound like he cared too much. John wasn't even sure why he did care so much, considering he'd only known Sherlock for a single day...

He typed back:

_Are you okay? When will you be back at school?_

John hurriedly walked to school, beginning to power walk, conscious of the time. It was a particularly cold day and John regretted not wearing extra layers underneath his uniform, the January air biting at his skin. He began to wonder where Sherlock even was. Was he still in hospital, dressed in white scrubs and watching crap telly all day? Or was he at his home, tucked up in bed, doing whatever it is that Sherlock does when he's bored? All John really cared about was whether or not Sherlock was going to be okay. Again, he wasn't sure why exactly, but he cared all the same.

After John endured a two hour lesson of Biology, again without Sherlock, and a single lesson of History, it was time for morning break. Roland and the others had claimed their own spot for mealtimes at school in the common room of the West Building. John had absolutely no idea why they all seemed to like this particular location so much; he personally thought it was terrible. It was very close to the staff room and the window looked out at nothing but transportable buildings. The only good thing about it was that there was heating, a television and a coffee machine. At first when John had been shown this room, he could have sworn that he had been dreaming. It had expensive looking sofas, a fireplace, Persian rugs and just looked damn posh in general. In fact, John thought it looked something straight out of Harry Potter. Back at his old school in West Yorkshire, the students were to sit outside all year apart from during winter when they were allowed to sit in any open classrooms, which had no heating whatsoever and nothing but desks and chairs to sit on.

This morning, Roland and Molly were talking together quietly in the corner whilst Jakob, Jonathon, Lachlan and Sasha all sat on the sofa watching a show on gardening, drinking mugs of coffee and hot chocolate. John was standing by the window, watching the snow fall silently and spread an enormous white tablecloth over the school grounds. He still hadn't received a reply from Sherlock about whether or not he was returning to school yet and the anxiety was beginning to settle within him again. John watched as Roland and Molly began chuckling to each other, but there was something about it that was very unnerving.

He walked over. "Hey, guys, what's so funny?"

"Oh, hey John," Roland smiled. "Molly and I were just discussing the rumours spreading around about Holmes."

"Rumours?" John tried not to frown.

"Yeah," Molly confirmed. "He's been in hospital."

"Oh really?" John tried to sound surprised. "What for?"

Roland shrugged. "Nobody knows for sure. Some say his adopted mother has cancer, while others say he got bashed on his way home. I personally hope it's both; creepy little faggot."

"Don't you think that's a bit cruel, Roland?"

"Not at all. Besides, what do you care?"

'I, I don't," John murmured. "I just think that you're being a bit heartless. How would you feel if your mother had cancer? I know you don't like gays, Roland, but you never know; a gay just might beat you up for being straight one day."

Roland's mouth fell open. "I suppose you are right. But I still don't like him."

John just nodded and turned to leave. "I need to go see Miss Rinolds about my English work; I'll catch you guys later."

John boldly made his way to administration; planning to ask whoever he had to if they knew anything about Sherlock's whereabouts. He needed to speak to Sherlock urgently. He didn't care if it was going to be via phone or in person; John had to know if he was okay. What if his adopted mother really did have cancer? What if somebody really had beaten him up on his way home? John really didn't want to think about it anymore. The idea of Sherlock lying in a hospital bed covered in bruises and with broken bones was enough to make him feel physically ill and he shuddered slightly.

"Um, excuse me, but I was wondering if you knew anything about Sherlock Holmes," John politely asked the receptionist.

She smiled sadly at him. "I'm afraid it is a very private matter that only staff members are allowed to know about, sweetie.'

"Please, can you at least give me a number I can contact him on? He and I are partnered in a subject together and I really need his assistance with an assignment."

"I really don't think that's – "

"Please!" John insisted in a harsh whisper. "You know as well as I do that almost every single student at this school bullies him every single day. I am the only one who legitimately cares about his whereabouts."

The receptionist typed something into her computer and then wrote down a number. "Here is his landline number, but this didn't happen, okay?"

John thanked her gratefully and exited the building, taking his phone out of his pocket as he did so. He knew that making a personal phone call was against the school rules and that he would most likely have his phone confiscated, but honestly considered Sherlock's wellbeing to be a whole lot more important. It was becoming obvious to John that he felt something for the strange student that was Sherlock Holmes. He knew that for some strange reason John wanted to befriend him, but wasn't entirely sure why. Was it because he pitied the lonely or because John was attracted to him? He wasn't sure; perhaps it was both.

A woman answered the phone after John dialled the number. She sounded generally upset. "Hello, this is Mrs Hudson speaking."

"Oh, hello," John started to feel nervous. "I was wondering if Sherlock Holmes was available to talk?"

"Who is this?" Mrs Hudson asked cautiously. "If you're one of those bullies that give my Sherlock grief, I will contact the police!"

"My name is John Watson. I was assigned as Sherlock's Biology partner for this semester. Has he mentioned me at all?"

There was a brief pause. "He said that he couldn't figure you out."

"Oh, um, okay. Well, I was wondering if I could please talk to him. He's missed out on a lot of work these past few weeks and I was hoping to give him a brief outline of what he should be studying until he returns to school."

"Just a moment,"

John stood awkwardly behind a large tree, hoping that nobody would spot him. He couldn't be anymore thankful than he already was for being able to talk to Sherlock and he hoped that the bizarre student wouldn't be arrogant and ignore all of his questions. John then began to feel relieved as realisation came over him when he worked out that Mrs Hudson was obviously Sherlock's adopted mother that Roland had mentioned, and was thankful that she wasn't actually in hospital dying of cancer.

"What do you want, John?"

"Sherlock," John breathed, relieved to hear his voice. "Please tell me that you are okay."

"You lied to Mrs Hudson. You told her that you were going to discuss school work with me. I don't like it when people disrespect her." Sherlock said crossly.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just really need to know if you're okay."

"Fine,"

John had expected his bluntness. "When do you think you will be back at school? You actually have missed a lot of work."

"I don't know, John. I expect within another week. It depends on what Luke says. And don't worry about the work; I already know it all."

"Luke? Who's Luke? Is he your brother?" John asked nosily.

Sherlock sighed. "No, John. He is not my brother."

"Then who is he?"

"I have to go. I might talk to you on Facebook. Goodbye."

And then he hung up. Just like that, Sherlock Holmes hung up on him. John hadn't obtained any form of information that he had actually wanted, other than that Sherlock was okay. Whilst he was relieved that Sherlock was alright and at home instead of in hospital, John was pretty bloody annoyed at the other student's arrogance. He didn't think he could ever understand how anyone could be as rude as Sherlock Holmes was to everybody, and it seemed that the nicer you acted toward him, the ruder Sherlock was. This frustrated John to no end and decided that he would find out where Sherlock lived and pay him a surprise visit, no matter how much Sherlock whined or disapproved. Hell, if he threw a tantrum, John would even force him to sit on a chair in the corner if he had to. If Sherlock wasn't going to behave like an adult, then John would have to take that role.

* * *

><p>At home that night, John sat on his bed silently, staring at his Facebook page. He had been waiting all day and evening for Sherlock to send him an inbox but no avail. Giving in, he clicked on the little speech bubble icon in the left hand corner of the screen and began typing out a small speech to Sherlock.<p>

_Sherlock,  
>I don't know why you behave the way you do, exactly. I don't know why you seem to think that you are so much better than everyone just because you are so intelligent and that you can always have exactly what you want. I have been nothing but kind to you since we met and you have quite literally been a complete and utter prick back. What exactly did I do to you that was so bad? Was it because I hang out with Roland? I know he bullies you, but not once have I ever joined in with this bullying. Everyone else seems to hate you, but I don't. As a matter of fact, I actually really want to be friends with you. You intrigue me and I admire your intellect. So to be frank, I would really like it if you stopped being an arrogant... Never mind. Just, I hope you're okay. Look forward to you returning to school.<em>

With nervous fingers and butterflies roaming his stomach, John hit the send button and pushed his laptop away from him, absolutely terrified of Sherlock's reply if he were to actually receive one. He felt a little like a girl admitting to her crush that she liked him and was hoping that he liked her back, and to be honest, John thought that maybe he did quite fancy Sherlock. He was incredibly attractive, after all, and John had a feeling that underneath all of that condescension and childish behaviour was actually a very kind person. John smiled to himself as he thought of how cute Sherlock was with his little black ringlets of hair and those slate grey eyes. He had the most perfect mouth, his lips a pale shade of pink and chapped. Sherlock was also incredibly thin, but John suspected that he had quite a muscular torso.

Just as John started sliding his hand down his stomach, his laptop made the familiar popping noise that informed him he had a new message on his Facebook chat. Waiting a few moments to calm himself down, John then sat up and reached for his computer.

**Sherlock Holmes 9:15pm**

_I appreciate your kindness. Thank you._

John smiled to himself and felt warmth spread through his heart. He was about to start typing a reply when a message notified him that Sherlock had gone offline, and so he decided that he would simply wait until he went to visit the other student on the weekend. He then shut down his laptop and lay back down against the pillows, moving his hand down his stomach like before. Sherlock Holmes really wasn't the haughty bastard that he put out to be, and John felt pleased with this fact. With the weekend on his mind, John turned his head into his pillow with a moan and then began to finish what he had started.


	4. Nothing But A Bath Robe

**Author's Note: Recently updated this chapter. All chapters are in the process of being edited. And chapter 10 is on it's way (very slowly).  
>Semi-porn in this chapter. Pretty fluffy. Trigger warning due to some conversations between Sherlock and John.<br>Song used: "Savin' Me" by Nickelback.  
>Enjoy.<br>**

* * *

><p>Sherlock Holmes was bored. In fact, he was so bored that it just wasn't funny anymore. What on Earth was he supposed to do when he had strict orders from both Mrs Hudson and Luke to stay inside 221B at all times and not go out?<p>

He couldn't watch television, it was tedious and all of the programs had predictable plots. He wasn't ever hungry and so eating due to boredom simply wasn't an option. He had tried to practice his violin, aware that auditions for the school's band were coming up soon, but found he couldn't concentrate. Facebook was boring, due to everyone on his page being at school for most of the day. Talking to John wasn't an option as Sherlock was still recovering from all of the emotions he had felt at once from the message he had sent him. He had even read all of the books in the flat, twice.

There was simply nothing to do. So yes, Sherlock was bored out of his mind.

Sitting on his bed, Sherlock began to think about the week he'd been forced to stay in the loony bin. It had been incredibly pointless. He would laze around in his hospital bed all day, not wanting to associate with other patients, being bored and forced to talk to a bunch shrinks.

Sherlock thought they were all useless and quite frankly, that he didn't need their help at all. He knew he had a problem with self harming, but there was nothing that anybody but himself could do to fix it. He had been through exactly seven psychologists, all to which Sherlock had found incredibly annoying. They would all sit there in the chair next to him in their Armani suits, holding their clipboards and staring over at him through their thin little glasses, asking him questions about his childhood and the bullying he had experienced at school.

Sherlock had ignored all of their questions and told them all that they were stupid and needed to do something a whole lot more useful to the world. The nurses and doctors were ready to give up when one last person stepped in, willing to help.

Luke was a young, professional youth counsellor and Sherlock was beginning to grow quite fond of him. He had walked into Sherlock's hospital room with a big smile on his face, not frowning like the others and went over to shake Sherlock's hand.

For the first session, Luke didn't ask Sherlock a single question about his personal life or why he self harmed. For the majority of the time, the two of them had discussed forensics, Sherlock's biggest interest. He instantly warmed to the young counsellor, and started telling him small attributes of his life.

Sherlock told Luke that he was in his final year at Swatchton Grammar, is 17, has been playing the violin for ten years, wants to become a detective and that he doesn't have any friends. Luke had listened patiently, often making positive comments and asking questions, and after the second session Sherlock had fully opened up to him about the bullying, the self harming, the identity crisis and John Watson.

After eight days of hospital food and rubbish television, Sherlock almost had to beg the doctors to let him go home. They didn't want to, but his scars were starting to heal and his stitches were able to be removed, so with the agreement that he would stay home and see Luke twice a week, Sherlock was discharged from the loony bin.

He liked to think that he was doing exceptionally well mental health wise. Whilst he still felt guilty from how much he hurt Mrs Hudson and breaking his own promise, and besides being bored, Sherlock Holmes was feeling very content. Especially since John Watson had been so nice to him as of late.

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson called. "There's someone here to see you! I'm just going to leave him in the lounge suite for a moment!"

Sherlock frowned; Luke wasn't supposed to be seeing him for another two days and Mycroft had already come to visit him this morning. This, he might add, had been incredibly uncomfortable. So who was here to see him? He hadn't even asked Lestrade to pop over for a bit to watch reruns of Miss Marple...

The door opened and Mrs Hudson poked her head in. "Oh, Sherlock! Put some clothes on, will you? You can't see to your guest dressed in nothing but your bath robe!"

"Can and will." Sherlock responded nonchalantly.

Mrs Hudson sighed and shouted down the hallway. "You can come in now, dear! It's just down the hall!"

About five seconds later, Sherlock's door opened completely and stood in the doorway holding a bunch of papers was none other than John Watson. Sherlock stared for a few moments, trying to deduce the situation and remember how to breathe.

What on Earth was John Watson doing here? The pile of papers suggested that he had brought Sherlock a whole heap of Biology assignments to do. But considering he had specifically asked John not to bring him any, Sherlock began to wonder if John Watson was here to actually spend time with him.

Sherlock began to observe John's appearance. He noticed that he was wearing what seemed to be a brand new shirt, expensive smelling cologne and designer brand jeans. His hair was neatly combed, his skin looked recently moisturised and from the tiny speckle of white on John's chin, Sherlock could tell that he had also brushed his teeth right before coming here. If he hadn't known any better, Sherlock would have assumed that John Watson was trying to impress him, and God damn it, it was working.

"I brought you our Biology work." John smiled.

"I told you not to. Also, how did you find out my address?"

'Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson scolded. "Don't be so rude!"

She left the room swiftly and closed the door behind her, leaving Sherlock completely alone with John who was shifting his feet in a nervous manner. Sherlock couldn't help but stare at him and relish in just how particularly attractive he looked today. He didn't feel ashamed of his attraction to John anymore, thanks to Luke, and it was a nice feeling not hating himself for it anymore. Luke had told Sherlock to be careful of labels, and that because people labelled him a "fag" it didn't mean being attracted to one boy meant he was gay. So Sherlock allowed himself to take in John's beauty and didn't even let his arousal bother him.

"Greg Lestrade told me your address... So," John started awkwardly. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"Okay," John nodded. "Are you better now?"

"I don't understand." Sherlock replied thickly.

"You said you were in hospital..."

"I was."

John dropped the Biology homework onto Sherlock's desk in what seemed to be a frustrated manner. "Why are you like this?"

"Like what?" Sherlock didn't understand.

"Like this. You're so blunt and rude all of the time, and so bloody arrogant!"

Sherlock felt slightly offended. "I'm not doing anything wrong; this is just the way I am."

"Well I'm sorry, Sherlock, but the way you behave is actually considered socially unacceptable."

Sherlock let this sink in. He wondered if it had anything to with his Asperger's syndrome. He knew that he sometimes behaved childish, and that when he did behave like that publicly, Mrs Hudson had to explain to everyone of his condition. But whenever he was his usual, blunt self, she didn't think she needed to tell anybody about it.

Sherlock didn't understand what the problem was by being so blunt all the time. He just told it as it was and nothing more. He was brutally honest, if that's one way to describe it. So, knowing that John didn't like the way Sherlock was normally, he felt what he knew was sadness and lowered his head almost shamefully.

"I'm sorry you don't like me for the way I am…"

"I, I didn't say that, Sherlock," John replied softly. "Whilst you might irritate me to no end, there's nothing that I dislike about you."

"Oh." Sherlock was surprised.

"I don't know why most people hate you so much, to be honest."

Sherlock smirked. "Don't you know? I'm a "faggot", as Perny continuously says."

"Um, and uh... Are you?"John asked carefully.

"Don't know," Sherlock shrugged. "But do you want to know the funny part? It was Perny, not me."

John warily sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed. "What do you mean exactly?"

"Surely you've heard the story about me apparently 'wanking' in the change rooms after apparently 'seeing' Perny naked after his shower, no?"

"Uh, yeah, he told me about that on my first day..."

Sherlock chuckled slightly. "It was actually me who caught Perny in the act. He hadn't seen me naked, but I did walk into the shower room to hear someone moaning, and when I looked into one of the cubicles, there he was."

"It's not that I don't believe you, but why would he spread rumours about you just because you caught him jacking off?" John looked confused.

"Because in his hands he was holding a male pornographic magazine,"

Sherlock watched as John took in the information and almost started laughing at how confused he looked. John was frowning, his brow furrowed and he kept inhaling as if he were going to say something.

Sherlock could remember that day as if it were yesterday. It had happened when he was in his third year of school, when he still had to take P.E as a subject. The rule was that you had to take a shower at the end of each lesson so your uniform didn't smell all day, and Sherlock used to wait around until all of the boys were finished so he could shower alone without being teased for his scrawny body.

On that particular day, Sherlock had stripped out of his P.E gear, wrapped a towel around himself and then headed toward the shower stalls. He abruptly heard a male voice moaning softly and stopped, suddenly aware that he wasn't completely alone. Very cautiously, Sherlock crept up to the stall where the noise was coming from and slowly poked his head in.

He remembered feeling very confused as he saw Roland Perny leaning against the tiled wall of his cubicle, with one hand around his penis and the other holding what seemed to be a homosexual pornographic magazine.

When he asked Perny what he was doing, quite literally not having any idea, Perny pulled his pants up and punched Sherlock square in the face. Lying on the floor in pain, Sherlock stared up at Perny as he warned him that if he were to ever tell anybody he would spread around the school that Sherlock Holmes was a gay little pervert. To this day, Perny still spread the rumours, despite Sherlock not ever telling a single soul about it. Until now.

"So, you're telling me, that Roland is gay?" John asked bewilderedly.

"Who knows, John? Luke says you shouldn't label yourself or others based on observation." Sherlock answered casually.

"I'm sorry, but who is this 'Luke' you keep mentioning?"

"I have only mentioned him twice."

"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock, will you please stop trying to avoid my questions?" John was getting frustrated again.

"Why are you asking me so many questions anyway? I believe the social convention is that you only ask such personal questions if you are close to the person. You and I are not close." Sherlock answered coolly.

"Because I bloody care about you, Sherlock! I have no idea why, but I do!" John suddenly exploded.

Sherlock didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit. John apparently genuinely worried about Sherlock's wellbeing and was getting angry at Sherlock because he refused to let John in and tell him everything that had been happening. Sherlock could feel something along the lines of adoration for John for caring so much, and then guilt for not telling him anything.

"Do you know that people were spreading rumours about what had happened to you? Roland said that there was even a rumour going around that Mrs Hudson was in hospital dying of cancer! There was one spreading that you got beaten up on your way home! I was worried sick, Sherlock Holmes! I went to administration and practically begged them to give me your phone number to make sure you were okay... And for what? Bloody nothing, I'll say!"

Fear was starting to take over Sherlock's body. He didn't like John when he was angry and slowly began to tuck his knees up underneath his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs protectively. He wanted nothing more than to hold John, tell him everything and then kiss that perfect red mouth of his. Sherlock was willing to experiment anything if it meant John possibly calming down.

"Do you actually care about anything other than yourself and Mrs Hudson? Have you always been so bloody rude? Have you always been so, so, confusing? One minute you hate me because we have to be partners in Biology, the next you're thanking me for being so kind to you! Well, let me just ask, Sherlock bloody Holmes, what the hell do you want from me?"

John looked as though he had finished his little outburst and was staring hard at Sherlock, his chest heaving. Before he could stop himself, Sherlock had moved across the bed and his hands were holding fistfuls of John's hair, his lips pressed firmly against his.

At first, John had seemed surprised and didn't respond. But after a few moments, Sherlock felt his lips move in correspondence. Sherlock remembered some of the instructions he had read online on how to kiss somebody and gently ran his tongue over John's bottom lip, who gasped rather sexually. As Sherlock explored John's mouth with his tongue, he began taking notice of each spot that made the other student moan or shudder and stored the information in his hard drive.

John tasted faintly of toothpaste and strawberry jam, which was a surprisingly tasty mix. Sherlock heard a small sigh escape him as he felt John weave his fingers into his curls and twist aggressively.

Sherlock pulled away. "This, John. I want this. And I will tell you everything.

"Luke is my counsellor. He is helping me with my sexuality because I am struggling with it, though I have been a lot better lately. I was in a mental hospital for a week because I came close to death from self harm. I have been bullied since first year. Because everybody always calls me gay, every time I thought about a man sexually I would hate myself and try to convince myself that I was straight. Also, I've been attracted to you since day one."

John stared at him. "Um. I'm not entirely sure what to say... But, can I ask... Self harm?"

"I cut myself." Sherlock answered bluntly, looking down.

"Shit... Can I see?"

"I would prefer it if you didn't…"

John nodded and rested a hand on Sherlock's. The sad look that he gave Sherlock was almost unbearable and he felt his lower lip trembling, tears forming. He closed his eyes as John hesitantly ran his fingers over his cheek and felt a single tear roll down his face.

Sherlock hadn't felt so guilty in his whole life. All he seemed to do was hurt people, and half of the time he wasn't even conscious that he was doing it. He hurt Mrs Hudson by breaking his promise and ending up in hospital, and he had hurt John by keeping everything from him and being horrible simply because he was attracted to him.

"Hey," John whispered soothingly. "Please don't cry."

"I just hurt people, John. Normally it doesn't bother me and usually I'm not even aware that I do it. But you and Mrs Hudson actually mean something to me. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be so horrible to you. I was just afraid..." Sherlock trembled, tears falling.

"It's okay, Sherlock. If it makes you feel any better, I still haven't come out to anybody but my sister."

Shyly, Sherlock slid his arms underneath John's armpits and wrapped them around his waist tightly, burying his face into John's shoulder. As John returned Sherlock's gesture, he inhaled John's cologne and then exhaled deeply. He recognised it as one of Armani's fragrances for men and thought it made John smell simply delicious; making him decide that once he was feeling better he would have to do some more experimenting of his sexuality. But for now, he just wanted John to hold him. There was something about the way John's arms held onto Sherlock's body tightly that made him feel safe, almost as if John was silently promising to always look after him.

John pulled away for a moment. "Sherlock, if I told you I could think of a way to cheer you up, but needed to go out and come back, would you wait for me?"

"Yes."

John let go of him completely, and Sherlock felt his heart grow warm as John stood up and then leant down to press a gentle kiss onto his forehead. He rested his hand on Sherlock's cheek for a moment and then left without a word, leaving Sherlock to sit on his bed and process everything that had just happened.

He sat up against his pillows and formed a steeple with his fingers, furrowing his brow in deep thought. Kissing John had been fantastic. The other student had firm, smooth lips and seemed to know what he was doing, which had been helpful for Sherlock.

He had tasted magnificent, and the two of them hadn't produced an unnecessary amount of saliva like Sherlock had worried they might have.

John's hair had been very soft, like a baby's, and had practically slipped through Sherlock's fingers. He had moaned the most when Sherlock's teeth accidentally brushed against John's lips, which surprised Sherlock, having thought that it was a mistake he had made.

Sherlock had also noticed that John preferred to kiss his bottom lip, as he was always changing back to it when Sherlock experimented with swapping lips. The last piece of information that Sherlock had gathered from the experience was that John was certainly not the dominant type; he had followed Sherlock's every move.

Sherlock could feel his crotch aching and tried to ignore it. He was still feeling a little hesitant when it came to masturbation, but only because he was new to it. Sometimes if it was absolutely necessary, Sherlock would relieve himself. If he needed to be sexually relieved, Sherlock would much prefer for someone else to do the deed for him, because that way he could return the favour and feel far less guilty.

Just thinking about such things made Sherlock want John to hurry up and return from wherever he was. He wanted to explore more of his sexuality with John and gather more information. Sherlock decided that when John returned he would perform yet another experiment, investigating whether or not he would enjoy being sexual with another boy. Something inside Sherlock made him hope that the conclusion would be a yes.

"Okay, I'm back." John announced, returning into the room.

Sherlock noticed that he was holding a guitar. "What is with the guitar?"

"Patience is a virtue." John grinned.

"John, not that I don't appreciate you trying to cheer me up," Sherlock began. "But, to be blunt, I need to kiss you again. Now."

Almost instantly, as if Sherlock had practically ordered him, John obediently put his guitar down and sat in front of Sherlock on his bed. Leaning forward, John pressed his lips to Sherlock's, who inwardly moaned. He began running his nails through John's hair and gently nibbled on his lip, producing a gentle moan.

As they continued kissing, their tongues entwined in a frenzy of lust, Sherlock ran his hands all over John's body. First he stroked John's face, relishing in the soft skin that was beneath his fingertips. Sherlock then trailed his fingers down to caress John's neck, noting that each time he ran his fingertips over his Adam's apple he could elicit a sexual gasp.

He began rubbing his hands over John's shoulders and his back, stopping in places to store in his mind where John liked to be touched the most. John was moaning very audibly when Sherlock bravely slid his hands underneath John's shirt, tracing his abdomen muscles lightly at first and then pressing his palms against them aggressively.

It was when Sherlock ran his hands up John's thighs that he pulled away. "Sherlock, are you sure we aren't moving too fast? I mean, I haven't been sexual with a guy before and - oh my God!"

Sherlock had ignored the other student and started undoing his jeans, his hand now gripping John's shaft through his boxer briefs determinedly. There was quite a large stain of pre-cum on John's underwear, and knowing this made Sherlock's own member twitch. He began hesitantly squeezing at the bulge, hearing John's breathing increase at an alarming rate as he did so.

Sherlock began taking mental notes on where John liked to be touched best and in what particular methods. Each time Sherlock gingerly rubbed his thumb over the head of John's member, he would whimper, and whenever Sherlock gave him a tight squeeze he would groan audibly.

"Sh-Sherlock, do you... Do you want... Me to... Do you, too?" John panted.

Sherlock nodded. "I would like that a lot. Please, John."

He pressed their lips together gently and let his mouth fall with a gasp as he felt John undo his bath robe. He began pawing at Sherlock's hardened shaft timidly, making Sherlock realise just how nervous he must be.

Trying to make John feel calmer, he took hold of his hand and encouraged the other student to generously squeeze his now throbbing erection. John made a whimpering sound and pulled away, lowering his eyes.

"I can't do this..."

Sherlock wanted to die right then and there. "What do you mean? I thought you were gay."

"I am gay. I'm as camp as. But I haven't done this before and I'm scared... I'm scared that I will do it wrong and I'm absolutely terrified that it won't mean anything to you."

Sherlock let this sink in for a moment before responding. "There is no wrong way to do it considering I haven't done this before, either. And I can assure you that it will mean something to me. I'm not very good with feelings, but I do know that I like you, John. I know that I like you a lot. But if you're certain you don't want to, then that's fine."

"I'm really sorry..." John said, biting his lip. "But I promise that when I am ready to do this with you, I will make sure it's amazing."

"What shall we do now, then, instead?"

John shrugged. "I could play my guitar for you, like I was going to in the first place."

"Well it depends; are you any good?"

"Very good." John smiled.

"It's settled then," Sherlock smirked. "I play the violin, you know. I might show you some time."

"Cool." John answered casually, tuning his guitar.

Sherlock watched as John's fingers twisted different knobs after plucking each string in order to get the right sound and had to smile. He looked so cute doing so, the particular chunk of hair flopping over his eyes and his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration.

Sherlock wondered if John would play something that he knew so he could sing along. He liked singing quite a lot, but had never told anyone. The most singing he ever did was in the shower, and that was only if Mrs Hudson wasn't home. He didn't think he had that bad a voice, but was still too low in self esteem to ever show anyone his skills. But for some reason he felt as though he had nothing to hide with John and decided he would sing if he knew the song well enough.

John positioned himself in front of Sherlock with his guitar. "I don't know if you sing, but feel free to if you know this one; it reminds me of you."

As John began playing the first few chords, Sherlock listened intently and realised that he did know the song and rather well. He felt a small lump form in his throat knowing that it reminded John of him, and then cleared his throat ready to sing the song. His baritone voice allowed for him to sing the notes in his own preferred key, which created what Sherlock personally thought was a better version of the song; more acoustic.

_"Prison gates won't open up for me._

_On these hands and knees I'm crawlin';_

_Oh, I reach for you..._

_Well, I'm terrified of these four walls;_

_These iron bars can't hold my soul in._

_And all I need is you._

_Oh, I scream for you."_

John smiled at Sherlock encouragingly and continued to play the song, his head nodding in time with the rhythm. Sherlock kept on singing along to John's beautiful guitarist skills and could feel tears falling from his eyes. This song truly and honestly did describe him and almost perfectly at that. As he continued to sing, Sherlock ran his fingers absent mindedly along the scars on his arms and watched as John finally observed them, his eyes widening.

_"Show me what it's like_

_To be the last one standing._

_Teach me wrong from right,_

_And I'll show you what I can be._

_Say it for me, say it to me;_

_And I'll leave this life behind me._

_Say it if it's worth savin' me._

_Hurry, I'm fallin';_

_I'm fallin'."_

The song came to an end and by now Sherlock was sobbing. He was so ashamed of what he had been doing to himself over the years and all of the pain it had brought upon Mrs Hudson. He wanted to get better and live a healthy life with a positive aspect and high self esteem. Sherlock believed that just maybe John Watson would be able to help him do so. He seemed to have enough patience and was incredibly kind.

A stirring occurred in Sherlock's heart that he recognised as fondness and surprised himself when he suddenly found himself hoping that John felt the same way. Perhaps Sherlock wanted a relationship him.

John was now gently tracing a scar on one of Sherlock's main arteries. "Sherlock... Why? Why would you try to kill yourself?"

"Because I liked boys... I got bullied for it so much that I convinced myself that being gay was obviously wrong and disgraceful. Whenever I thought about a boy that way, I would hurt myself. One day, I cut too deep..." Sherlock answered shamefully.

John pushed a gentle kiss into the scar and embraced Sherlock tightly, gripping onto his bath robe. Sherlock slowly leant back until he was lying down and gently positioned John next to him so his head was resting on his shoulder. Very cautiously, Sherlock kissed the fluffy blonde hair on the top of John's head and tightened his grip around him.

He couldn't help but count his lucky stars at that moment. Out of nowhere, John Watson had entered his life and accepted him for who he was. He had been kind to him and actually pursued some form of relationship with him. Sherlock didn't want to ever lose John, because for the first time in years he had actually felt something for another human being other than Mrs Hudson.

"Sherlock," John murmured, "I will save you, and you are definitely worth saving."


	5. Tea and Orgasms

**Author's Note: Recently updated this chapter. All chapters are in the process of being edited. And chapter 10 is on it's way (very slowly).  
>Mostly porn in this chapter. Some fluff. Some dark themes and conversations between John and Perny. I would also like to add that Perny is based off of Moriarty.<br>Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine.**

* * *

><p><em>Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.<em>

As the sound of plastic vibrating on wood filled the room, John rolled onto his other side and tried to continue his dream. He had been at Sherlock's flat to apparently work on a Biology assignment, but when he had walked into Sherlock's room he was nowhere to be found.

When he heard the shower in the distance, John opened the bathroom door and instantly felt embarrassed as he came face to face with a very naked Sherlock. Even though he was nervous as hell, John had stripped his clothes and then stepped into the bathtub. Sherlock had attacked John's mouth with fervour and just as he reached down to take John's shaft in his hand; the vibrating sound woke him up.

John reached for his phone with a groan and saw that he had three new messages. Sherlock had been texting John every single night and usually during the day when John was at school.

He had been visiting Sherlock in his flat every few evenings after school to "study" which had always turned into a make out session amongst a few other experiments. John wasn't entirely sure of what he and Sherlock had exactly, but he was pleased with it. He wanted to call Sherlock his boyfriend but at the same time dreaded the idea of telling anyone.

John opened his first text; it was from Roland:

_Can you please meet me outside the school gates this morning? Need to talk to you about something important._

John frowned slightly and moved onto the other messages from Sherlock:

_Walk to school with me? Returning today._

_-SH_

_Will buy you breakfast if you get here early enough. Maybe._

_-SH_

John smiled to himself and instantly replied:

_Can't walk to school with you, Roland wants to talk at the gates :-( but will come and see you. Be there in twenty mins._

John ran a hand over his face and sighed. He felt very disappointed and began to wonder what could possibly be so important that Roland needed to discuss with him. They had completed their paired English assignment a week ago and handed it in and they had no other subjects together. A thought that maybe Roland wanted to talk about doing something horrible to Sherlock crossed John's mind and he felt his stomach coil.

John got up and pulled his school uniform on hastily, not bothering to shower. He made his way downstairs into the kitchen and felt guilt rush through him as he saw a plate of breakfast awaiting him. He wanted to get to Sherlock's with as much free time as possible, but didn't want to hurt his mother's feelings and so he forced down a few mouthfuls.

He stood from the table. "Not feeling too hungry this morning, sorry! See you later."

John tied his school scarf around his neck and stepped outside into a very frosty and chilly morning. He wished that Harriet hadn't already left, as a lift to Sherlock's place would have been wonderful. But given it was only a ten minute walk, John stiffened up his upper lip and soldiered through the snowy weather, the wind biting angrily at his face.

As he reached 221B, John rapped on the door and almost instantly it was wrenched open, leaving John standing on the door step staring at an extremely gorgeous looking Sherlock. He was only half dressed in his uniform, wearing pants and a half buttoned up shirt, his curls still damp from an obviously recent shower. John had to smile at how utterly adorable Sherlock looked at that moment and pressed their lips together. He could feel Sherlock kissing back for a moment and then he pulled away, grasping John hard by the shoulders.

"Don't just stand there!" He scolded. "Get inside; you'll catch a cold!"

John had to smile at Sherlock's coldly delivered concern and followed him to the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of Sherlock's bed, John watched him continue dressing. Sherlock was rake thin, but John had become very fond of his long and lanky body. He loved Sherlock's thick curls and the way his Adam's apple stuck out of his neck prominently. He loved Sherlock's small and mousey brown snail trail that was barely visible and the way he would chew on his lower lip as he started to grow horny. John thought Sherlock was perfect; he even considered his scars beautiful.

"John, are you aroused? You have placed my pillow on top of your lap." Sherlock interrupted his perving.

"W-what? Um, uh, well, er, maybe..." He sputtered, not realising.

Sherlock leant close so that their lips brushed together. "I would love to devour you right here and now, but to be blunt, you haven't showered this morning and really smell; shower first, if you don't mind."

John was dumbfounded. "O-okay..."

Sherlock led John to the bathroom, handed him a towel and left. John still didn't know how to react, so he turned the shower on, stripped out of his uniform and then stepped into the bathtub.

As the hot water pelted down onto his back, John couldn't help but suddenly remember the dream he had that morning. He felt his erection from earlier returning and wanted nothing more but to wank off. He was so goddamn horny, but he knew that he could never do that in somebody else's house; let alone in Sherlock's shower. But his hard on was becoming painful…

"Fuck it," John slid his hand down his stomach.

He built himself up, gently running his fingers over his length and teasing the tip. John felt a shudder ripple through him and slowly curled his fingers around his member, beginning to stroke himself. He began to imagine Sherlock being in here with him, kissing him all over, his hands rubbing at his muscles, pulling them close together. John stroked harder and faster, hearing small moans escape his lips, the hot water adding to his lust.

"Are you okay in there?" Sherlock called.

"Fine!" John squeaked.

He heard Sherlock say something else, but was beginning to grow desperate for release. He abruptly lost balance and fell down with a small thud. The pleasure he was feeling allowed him to ignore the pain, and he began to fantasise. Sherlock sitting between his legs, sucking and licking with that perfect mouth...

John's moans were becoming more audible and he could feel his chest burning as he started breathing erratically. In a few moments, John's vision went completely white and he unknowingly let out a sharp cry of Sherlock's name, spurting seed out onto his fingers.

"Stop wasting my hot water!" Sherlock yelled.

"Be right out!" John called, his face burning with embarrassment.

Swiftly, he clambered out of the bathtub, towelled himself off and dressed. As he opened the door, John planned to find somewhere to hide; he couldn't believe that he had been dirty enough to do that.

Abruptly, John found himself pushed violently against a wall and felt someone attacking at his lips with extreme fervour. Realising obviously that it was Sherlock, he tentatively reached up and found his fingers tangled in thick curls, and he kissed back.

John pulled away a few moments later. "Jesus Christ, you scared me!"

"You should shower here more often."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard you."

"Oh my God," John went beetroot. "This is so embarrassing! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wank off in your shower! I was just so horny and I couldn't stop thinking about you being in there with me and – "

"Honestly, it's fine. It didn't bother me." Sherlock replied, kissing him.

"No it's not okay," John pouted. "You don't do that in other people's showers!"

"You're cute when you're embarrassed."

John pouted again and stalked off toward the kitchen. As Mrs Hudson wasn't home and Sherlock managed to burn everything, John busied himself making tea. Knowing where everything was now, he selected two mugs from the cupboard and placed a teabag into each of them. He felt a pair of slender arms snake around his waist and something hard poking into his spine.

"I'm horny." The baritone murmured into his neck.

John almost spilt the hot water. "What do you want me to do about it?" He was growing hard again already.

"Let me have you right here on this kitchen bench?"

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, accidently spilling hot tea all over his trousers.

"Oh, now look what you've done," Sherlock purred. "I will definitely have to clean you up."

He turned John around so they were facing each other, pulled his trousers around his ankles, and knelt in front of him. He was gingerly lapping at the stain on John's boxer briefs from the spilt tea - and probably something else - eliciting a whimper from John. He stared down at Sherlock who had tucked his fingertips underneath John's underwear and was looking up at him in question. When John nodded slowly, wanting him to continue whatever it was he was doing, Sherlock slid John's briefs down his thighs, allowing his erection to spring free. John watched as he hesitantly stuck his tongue out and then swirled it over the tip of his cock.

"Uggggghhhhhh..."

Sherlock glanced up shyly. "Does that feel good? Shall I keep going?"

"Jesus, don't stop!" John gasped, clutching onto Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock smiled, clearly pleased with himself and then teasingly ran his tongue over John's whole length before taking him in his mouth. John moaned loudly, having never felt something so amazing in his entire life. He watched as Sherlock slid his pale lips up and down his shaft. His tongue was doing magical things that John didn't even know how to describe, and he yanked at Sherlock's hair. Sherlock growled aggressively, sucking even harder and was driving John crazy with his amazing tongue thing. He could feel his breathing becoming erratic and knew it wouldn't be long until he reached his climax.

"Shit... Oh my God..."

Sherlock was moving his head up and down at a very fast pace now and John wasn't even bothering to keep a control over his moans. At some point he had slid down the kitchen cupboards onto the linoleum floor, bringing Sherlock with him. He stared in awe as he witnessed Sherlock reaching into his trousers and rub at himself clumsily; _fuck_.

John closed his eyes and thrust his hips back and forth, feeling those tight lips enclosing around him. He couldn't hold it in any longer and clung tightly to Sherlock's curls, almost ripping a large chunk out as his orgasm took over. John felt his body shaking and gave a shrill cry of ecstasy.

His orgasm subsided after a few moments and John opened his eyes to see Sherlock resting his head on his knee. There was cum all over his pants and fingers. Leaning over, John pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips before sitting back down.

"That… Was amazing..." John breathed.

Sherlock gave him a loopy grin. "Well I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did."

Suddenly conscious of the time, John glanced at his watch to discover that he and Sherlock only had ten minutes to walk to school. He hastily ran to Sherlock's bathroom, tugging at his trousers. Looking into the mirror, he made sure that his hair wasn't sticking out in all different directions. Just as he was tidying his messy uniform, John saw Sherlock in the mirror. He was half smiling, half frowning.

"I have to say, I didn't think people normally ran away after being given an orgasm." He drawled.

"We are going to be so late! I know you probably don't care about getting to school on time, but I do!" John pushed past him. "Plus, I have to meet Roland!"

"Who cares? Everybody is late to school once in a while and I'm sure that Perny won't die."

John stepped outside of 221B. "Look, I have to go, okay? But I promise to walk you home from school. Meet me on the corner of Northumberland?"

"I don't want to endure an entire day of school before I get to see you again!" Sherlock whined.

Sighing, John reached out and impulsively ran his hand over Sherlock's crotch. "I promise I'll make it up to you. Now please, I have to go."

Sherlock grasped John by the back of his neck and pulled him into a very passionate kiss. John suddenly didn't care about school and Roland and started to kiss back. But Sherlock pulled away and closed the door in John's face, leaving him standing out in the cold with the fifth hard on for that morning. A wide grin in place, John headed off in the direction of Swatchton Grammar with less than ten minutes to get there. He started to jog.

As he approached the school gates, puffing hard, Roland was waiting for him. "Good morning! How are you? You look exhausted!"

"Slept in," John lied. "I had to jog here from my place."

"Let's go inside so we can talk; it's very important."

Upon entering the common room, John couldn't help but feel very anxious as to what Roland was going to talk to him about. The room was completely empty, and when Roland locked the door behind him, John started to sweat. What was so important that the two of them needed to be alone for it to be discussed? Was it to do with Sherlock? Was Roland going to hurt him? John couldn't even bear to think about that and felt the blood drain from his face.

"Why do we need to be alone to talk about this?" John asked warily.

Roland took a seat. "You know I feel about Holmes, yes?"

"You wish he would die."

"The world would be a lot better off without a creep like him." Roland answered coldly.

"Where is this going?"

"I need to get revenge on him for what he did. He is such a little creep, and bullying him just isn't satisfying enough."

"W-what do you mean? What are you going to do to him?"

"It's my birthday in a few weeks' time and I'm having a big party," Roland began, a disturbing grin on his face. "I've heard through the grapevine that Holmes rather fancies you, you know. So my plan is to invite him to the party, pretend we like him and then have him walk in on you kissing Molly. He will be so heartbroken that he kills himself and then we all live happily ever after. The end."

"You actually want Sher-, I mean Holmes, to kill himself?" John wanted to cry.

"As I said before, the world is better off."

"But, what if I don't want to kiss Molly? I don't even like her!"

Roland took a hold of John's collar. "You _will_ kiss her. Understood? And not just a quick peck either; a proper snog. With tongue. Oh, and under the shirt action. And so help me, if you don't, I will leave you bleeding on the floor."

John nodded dumbly. "Y-yes, okay. Please let go of me."

The bell sounded and Roland let go. "We should go to home class now; Mr Rogers will wonder where we've gotten to."

John practically ran out of the common room, heading towards his home class in lightning speed. He couldn't believe that Roland actually wanted Sherlock to commit suicide. And how had people known that Sherlock liked him? They had been incredibly discreet about their feelings for each other.

John was also quite certain that Roland had formed his plan of encouraging Sherlock to kill himself due to the fact that word had got around pretty quickly about his previous attempt. John was furious. And absolutely terrified.

In home class, John instantly scanned the room for Sherlock. He was sitting in his usual place, staring down at his desk. Abruptly, he slowly lifted his head and stared at John, giving him the tiniest of smiles. John felt tears brimming at his eyes; he didn't deserve Sherlock at all.

He took a seat by himself and rested his head in his hands, feeling his knee begin to bounce like it always did when he was nervous. John felt his pocket vibrate. He knew the message would be from Sherlock and could practically feel his gaze burning a hole into his back. Noticing that Mr Rogers was intently reading today's newspaper, John reached into his pocket and opened the text:

_Are you okay? I can see that your collar is rumpled and your knee is bouncing._

_-SH_

John couldn't reply; not while he was like this. So he slipped his phone back into his trousers and could tell that Sherlock was glaring at him for ignoring the message. Mr Rogers then called attendance and soon all of the students were filing out of the class room to go to their morning lessons. John made his way toward the science block for his double Chemistry lesson, the anxiety still sitting inside his chest. He just wanted the day to hurry up and end; he wanted to be with Sherlock.

* * *

><p>As John exited the school gates that afternoon, he couldn't have felt anymore relieved. It had been the most horrible day. He was mostly worrying about Roland's plan, but it had been a generally shit day.<p>

In Chemistry, he blew up two test tubes during an experiment. During English, he had forgotten to bring his novel and was given "lesson time detention" to write lines that would supposedly help him to be organised. Lastly, in History, the teacher was in a particularly foul mood and got the class to copy down notes in silence for the entire two hours.

John was to say the least, in a terrible mood.

The corner of Northumberland Street was drawing nearer and John could see Sherlock waiting, leant against a lamp post, arms crossed. John wanted nothing more than for Sherlock to hold him close and assure him everything would be okay. All he could think about was Roland's plan.

When he reached the corner, John without thinking threw his arms around Sherlock's waist and buried his face deep into his trench coat. He felt his throat burn as tears were beginning to form. He squeezed his arms tighter but then pulled away when he noticed Sherlock wasn't responding in quite the way he had hoped for.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

John huffed. "I had a bad day and wanted a hug. Problem?"

"I'm just being cautious. There are students everywhere."

John walked ahead of him sulkily, making his way toward Baker Street. He could hear Sherlock catching up to him and then felt cold, slender fingers reaching for his own. He intertwined their hands together, trying to conceal it with their coats. It was a lovely feeling, walking down the street holding hands with the boy he was slowly falling in love with. But he was still wary of other students, and even though the street was practically deserted, John was still very nervous of publicising his feelings for Sherlock Holmes.

When Sherlock unlocked 221B, he instantly led John to his bedroom and closed the door. John was suddenly reminded of his promise from that morning and closed his eyes, preparing for Sherlock to attack him.

He was surprised when he felt Sherlock's scrawny arms encircle his shoulders and then hold him in a tight embrace. Smiling, John slid his arms around Sherlock's torso and rested his cheek on his chest. After a few minutes of holding each other, Sherlock pulled away slowly and then leant in to place a soft kiss on John's forehead. Who almost cried.

"I'm sorry you had a bad day." Sherlock actually seemed sympathetic.

"Wow…"

"What?"

"You seemed almost human for a moment there... It was nice." John teased.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I know I come off as cold and blunt all of the time, but I do care about you. I am also more than capable of expressing it."

John leant in and kissed him affectionately. "I believe I owe you something?"

Sherlock instantly took John's face in his hands and meshed their lips together aggressively, causing John to yelp slightly from surprise. Settling, he gently caressed Sherlock's lip with his tongue, seeking entrance. Sherlock instantly opened his mouth granting his permission, extracting a sexual gasp from John.

He twisted his fingers in Sherlock's curls and pressed their pelvis' together, moaning gently at the friction. Tentatively, he reached up and began to unbutton Sherlock's school shirt, dancing his fingertips across his pale torso. John broke apart from Sherlock's mouth, nervous as hell, and leant down to press breathy kisses over the scars on his chest.

"John..."

John gently traced his tongue up from Sherlock's bellybutton until he reached a nipple, catching it between his teeth. Sherlock let out a surprisingly loud moan and John felt his hair being tugged on tightly. He gently began to suckle on the now hardened nub and then used one of his hands to reach up and capture the other nipple between his thumb and index finger.

Sherlock let out a muffled sound of pleasure and pulled John up by his shoulders to reunite their lips together. John let his fingers weave into Sherlock's hair again and gently nipped at his lip. He removed a single hand from the curls and shyly ran it down Sherlock's chest until he reached the band of his trousers. Sucking in a nervous breath, John unsnapped and unzipped them, slipping the tips of his fingers underneath Sherlock's boxers.

"It's okay," Sherlock whispered encouragingly. "Keep going."

John nodded and brought their lips together again, his heart hammering like crazy. He pushed his trembling hand down and tenderly curled his fingers around Sherlock's incredibly hard cock. Sherlock hissed and clamped his mouth down more firmly onto John's.

He slowly and uneasily applied pressure and was rewarded with a deep groan. Feeling a little more confident, John manoeuvred his hand in an up down method, his movements clumsy and jerky. But Sherlock was whimpering softly and so John continued.

"God, John, please don't stop." Sherlock whined.

With the boost of assurance, John began to pump his hand at a steadier and more relaxed pace. Sherlock was now working at John's own pants, and he could feel Sherlock beginning to unzip his fly.

John worked his hand faster and harder, pre-cum starting to drip down onto his fingers. Sherlock was now palming John through his boxer briefs, giving him rough squeezes. He let out a moan and stopped his movement for a moment, losing focus from the pleasure.

"I said _don't_ stop." Sherlock almost growled.

"Sorry." He whispered.

John worked up his pace again and was compensated with Sherlock's hand beginning to move in the same method. He let out a soft moan and bit down quite hard onto Sherlock's lip, pumping faster. He could feel Sherlock's body beginning to tremble, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. John's fingers were smeared with pre-cum and he knew it wouldn't be too much longer until Sherlock reached climax.

John could already feel himself growing near, his moans becoming increasingly loud as Sherlock drove his hand more aggressively. He reached up with his left hand to catch Sherlock's nipple between his fingers and rubbed at it in time with his right hand. Within moments, Sherlock let out a sharp cry, his body shuddering and then painted John's jumper.

"Oh, God!" He shouted.

John almost squealed, a shrill sound escaping his lips, and then he too felt his orgasm take over. He leant into Sherlock, his mouth faltering, and dug his nails into Sherlock's chest, his vision blurred with stars.

Sherlock continued to rub John until his orgasm completely subsided, and then the two of them simply stood there for a moment, chests heaving and foreheads pressed together. Sherlock was still breathing quite erratically and John had to smile in satisfaction.

"So, was I uh, any good?" John asked meekly.

"Hmmmmmmm." Sherlock hummed in an exhausted manner.

Grinning again, John finally let go of Sherlock's now flaccid prick and made his way over to Sherlock's desk in a search of tissues or a cloth. He found a small packet of Kleenex and began to wipe the mess off of his hands and clothes. He glanced over at Sherlock who was still standing in the same position watching John silently, his chest still heaving.

John threw the tissues over and then made himself comfortable on Sherlock's bed, who lazily started mopped himself up. Feeling rather smitten, John decided that now would be the perfect time to ask Sherlock to become an official couple; he just couldn't wait any longer.

Sherlock snuggled up beside him on the bed. "That was amazing. Thank you."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," John blushed, nuzzling his chest. "Um, Sherlock... Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Well um... I was just thinking... We've been making out for a while now and we text each other a lot and um, I was wondering if you'd like to maybe... Be um... Be my boyfriend?"

John realised he'd closed his eyes out of nervousness and fear of rejection. Slowly, he opened them to look into Sherlock's. Sherlock's cat like eyes stared at him intently, and John was suddenly stricken with anxiety. The way Sherlock just laid there with no response made John instantly assume that Sherlock was going to say no and didn't want anything more than a beneficial friendship. He felt a small tear slip from his eye and looked away.

A thumb brushed it away and then a baritone voice spoke. "Don't cry. Please, John."

"You don't want this, do you?" John snivelled.

"Did I say that?" Sherlock smiled softly.

"Well, no..."

Sherlock held him in a tight embrace. "John Watson, it would be an absolute honour to call you my boyfriend. I know that I can be cold and ill mannered. I know that I am blunt and rude and arrogant. But I care about you. I care about you more than I have ever cared about someone - other than Mrs Hudson, that is. I'm not good with emotions in the slightest, so I'm sorry if this all sounds ridiculous. But I think I might... What's the term...? Be falling for you?"

John stared at Sherlock completely and utterly speechless. He was just so bloody adorable. His eyes had widened in a puppy-like manner and he had cupped a hand around John's face. Grinning, he separated the space between them and captured Sherlock's lips with his own. Sherlock pressed their body's together tightly, entangling their legs and John felt him smile into the kiss. As they broke apart, another tear dribbled down his face.

"You _must_ stop crying." Sherlock insisted.

"I'm sorry," John laughed. "I'm just happy."

"So, boyfriend, huh... Definitely a term I am not used to using. Not that I'm used to girlfriend, either. But I didn't ever expect to find myself in a relationship with another boy." Sherlock was babbling. "Which doesn't bother me, by the way! It's fine; it's all fine."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Shut up and kiss me."


	6. Pending Request

**Author's Note: This chapter has been recently updated. All chapters are in the process of being edited. Smut in this chapter. If smoking is a trigger, then I warn you there is smoking.**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine.**

* * *

><p><strong>Wendy Looper<strong>

_I love you so much, Brian! Happy Valentine's Day! 3_

_[posted at 7:15am]_

**Roger Lorence - Abigail Fletcher**

_Will you be my valentine? 3 xx_

_[posted at 7:19am]_

**Lauren Whesten**

_Ugh. Valentine's Day. Reminds me that I'm forever alone._

_[posted at 7:30am]_

Sherlock sighed as he scrolled through his Facebook news feed. Valentine's Day was just another day for everyone to waste their money on pointless cuddly teddy bears and chocolate and flowers. And it was that one day a year when Sherlock's Facebook was flooded with pointless status updates about being forever alone with cats and how sickeningly in love some teenagers were.

But this year was different. This year he had someone of his own. John Watson had been capable of producing emotions from Sherlock he didn't think he even had. But even though John meant a lot to him, he still refused to take part in the controversial holiday that was Valentine's Day; it was a waste of his time.

**John Watson**

_Valentine's Day, huh? I know everyone complains a lot today, or posts mushy stuff on here. I don't want to come across as a sheep. But… I have honestly never had a valentine before, or been spoilt on this particular day! Aha… Happy V-Day, everyone. Have a great day :-)_

_[posted at 7:35am]_

Sherlock read the status update over and over. He wasn't very good at picking up on other people's emotions; in fact he could probably understand his own emotions better than other's. But Sherlock certainly wasn't stupid and he knew that John was hinting at him to spoil him for Valentine's Day. He had already received a lengthy text message from him revealing how much he cared for Sherlock and that he was one of the best things to happen to him. Smiling at the thought of it, Sherlock opened the message and re-read it for quite literally the fiftieth time that morning.

_Good morning :-) I'm sure you are aware that it's Valentine's Day today. I thought, seeing as I am your boyfriend and all, I would send you a message and stuff. So here goes. You mean so much to me. You are such a beautiful person, even if you struggle to show it. I know that you are cold and blunt, but I've seen another side of you. You are kind to me, patient with me and have warmed to me. I think that's what I am most flattered by; the fact that you have grown to trust me. I need you to know that I don't ever intend to hurt you. I will die before I do that. You make me really happy. You are probably the greatest thing I've ever had in my whole life. I know I'm still in the closet, but I am very proud to say you are my boyfriend. Thank you. 3_

Sherlock hadn't bothered to reply to it. He had felt rather overwhelmed at all of the emotions he had experienced after reading it. He was so lucky to have John in his life. He was a little naïve at times and the fact that he wouldn't tell anyone of their relationship was sometimes hurtful, but other than that John was perfect. Sherlock had told Mrs Hudson about their partnership the night before and she had been amazingly supportive about it. She thought John was a very nice boy and it was lovely to see Sherlock so happy.

Smiling, Sherlock quickly typed into Google "what to do for your partner on Valentine's Day". A mass of results came up and Sherlock decided to click on the link that advertised the most common of things to do. When the website informed him it was common to buy roses, teddy bears, chocolate and jewellery, Sherlock almost felt sick. How could John possibly want all of these things? They were so cliché. Plus, Sherlock didn't have any time to go to the local shopping complex and purchase them…

Sherlock suddenly remembered that he had an older brother who did nothing but sit around all day drinking cups of tea and spying on people. He hastily typed out a text to Mycroft telling him that if he could purchase all of these things for Sherlock and deliver them all to John's house with an anonymous note, he was welcome to come for dinner this week.

He almost instantly got a reply of "_Of course, dear sibling_" and had to shudder a little. Why was his brother so unnecessarily creepy?

Checking the time, Sherlock discovered that it was nearing eight o'clock; he had better get a move on. He had a double Biology lesson this morning with John and for once didn't want to be late. John was almost like a second conscience for Sherlock, always urging him not to be late for classes and actually do his work. In fact, if it wasn't for John, Sherlock was sure he would be failing his classes endeavour wise.

Mrs Hudson popped her head around the door. "Locky, are you going to school today?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered bluntly. "I'm about to start getting ready."

His adopted mother drew back his curtains. "Are you and John doing anything special for Valentine's Day?"

"He wants to. I personally don't favour the event, but I suppose I can make an exception for him."

"I think it's so lovely that you've got a boyfriend," Mrs Hudson went to leave. "He seems to make you really happy."

"He does."

Sherlock threw his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. After shrugging into his uniform, not bothering to make himself look presentable, Sherlock kissed Mrs Hudson goodbye and left for school.

As he walked, it seemed that _everyone_ was in the mood for Valentine's Day. The birds were singing, the sun was melting the snow and he saw a ridiculous amount of couples holding hands and kissing each other, exchanging gifts. Sherlock thought it was utterly repulsive. But then he suddenly thought that maybe he was actually jealous. He wasn't allowed to walk hand in hand with John or publicly display affection or give him Valentine's presents. If someone were to catch them, both he and John would be beaten up.

The school gates were nearing and Sherlock could see John and Perny talking in their usual spot. As he drew closer, Molly Hooper joined them and gave John what seemed to be an envelope, kissing him on the cheek. Even from a distance, Sherlock could see his boyfriend blushing and felt jealousy surge through him. This wasn't fair. Why couldn't he do that to John? Why did all of the students insist on bullying people for being gay? Why couldn't they be happy together and tell people?

Upon reaching the entrance to Swatchton Grammar, Sherlock caught John's eye as he walked past. He watched his boyfriend turn a darker shade of pink and avert his eyes with a secretive smile. Feeling better instantly, Sherlock trudged through the sludge that used to be snow and made his way toward the West building for home class. He passed more couples embracing each other and first kisses and about a million fluffy bears and chocolate. Sherlock then began to wonder if Mycroft had kept his word and completed his favour…

Sherlock took his usual place in home class and pulled out a text book on forensics. The particular subject fascinated him so much and he was quite pleased when he discovered he could find the same sort of evidence using deduction.

That was what interested Sherlock the most; detective work using observation. In fact, he wished to become the world's only consulting detective one day. The teacher's told him that it wasn't a possible career, non-existent in fact and that even if he invented the job, nobody would ever pay him. But that didn't bother Sherlock; just solving a crime would be enough of a reward for him.

Just as Sherlock began reading a section on forensic chemistry, he heard more students begin to file in and almost instantly recognised Perny's voice.

"Got any Valentines, Holmes?" he sneered, sitting beside him.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Perny, why are you sitting next to me?"

"Well, why not? You don't own this table."

"Correct as you may be, I would prefer it if you sat elsewhere."

"I'm not here to cause grief; I came to give you something."

Sherlock sighed. "What could you possibly want to give me?"

"I have an invitation for you." Perny grinned.

"Why would I go to anything of yours?"

"Because John Watson will be there, and I know you fancy him."

Sherlock watched John in the corner of his eye who was concentrating very hard on the floor. "May I ask where you got that information from?"

"Strictly confidential, I'm afraid," Perny smirked. "It's on the seventeenth, my place, eight o'clock. John will be waiting."

He returned to his friends, leaving Sherlock feeling slightly confused. He wasn't worried about what Perny might be up to; he was an idiot. But he didn't understand how anybody could possibly know that he had feelings for John. The two of them never spoke in school unless they were in a Biology class and made sure they weren't ever seen in public. Clearly, Perny was lying.

Shrugging it off, Sherlock packed up his things and walked straight past John in the direction of the science block. As he grew nearer, John had caught up with him and Sherlock felt their fingers brush together, causing him to shiver. Neither of them spoke, creating an illusion to the other students that they weren't even aware of each other's presence.

They sat at their usual lab bench and John spoke first. "Don't worry about that thing Molly gave me."

"Why would I worry?" Sherlock muttered, still jealous.

He saw John open his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by Mr Chilton storming in. The Biology teacher dropped a pile of papers onto his desk, ordered the class to read chapter six of their text books in silence and then took out a red pen to obviously do marking.

Sherlock could tell by his uncombed hair and coffee stains on his tie that he and his wife had an argument either the night before or that very morning. He decided that it would be best if he didn't talk this lesson unless he wanted a detention.

A piece of paper with neat handwriting was abruptly slid in front of him, clearly from John.

_I know you're probably jealous of Molly, but please don't be. She likes Roland anyway._

Sherlock felt John's fingers gently stroking his own underneath the table and hastily wrote a scrawly reply.

**Okay, I was a little jealous… Happy Valentine's Day, by the way.**

As he saw John read the note, the hand under the desk squeezed his tightly and Sherlock felt rather… smitten. It was a new feeling and he thought that maybe he rather liked it.

His boyfriend was scribbling away and then the paper was placed in front of him again.

_You too. Speaking of Valentine's Day… I have a present for you. But you have to wait… ;)_

The hand was dangerously close to his crotch now. Sherlock had to fight back a moan and gave John a stern sideways glance. He watched as his boyfriend smirked to himself and he wrote a reply, tossing the paper over.

**Give it to me now. Leave class. The change rooms won't have anyone in them.**

He got a reply instantly.

_You go first; you can get away with just walking out. I'll meet you there in at least ten minutes._

Sherlock was instantly turned on by the fact that John was so willing. He faced him and received a wink. Good lord; he was frisky, too. Sherlock stood and made for the door, noticing that Mr Chilton had fallen asleep on top of his papers. With a smirk, he exited the lab and headed toward the boy's change rooms.

Just as he predicted, they were completely empty. There weren't any physical education classes for another forty five minutes, and Sherlock figured that would be plenty of time for John to give him his present; whatever it was. Just thinking about the sorts of things that John might have planned caused his cock to stir.

As he waited, Sherlock went and sat on one of the benches. He had to fight the urge to light a cigarette, knowing that it was against school rules, but more importantly that John would most likely kill him if he found out.

He had started smoking about a week ago. Mrs Hudson smoked on occasion, and one night when he was having cravings to get out his razor, he tried a single cigarette. At first it caused to him to almost cough up a lung, but by the time he had finished the fag, Sherlock was in ecstasy. The nicotine allowed him to relax and slowly his urge to cut faded. Ever since then, he had been stealing cigarettes from Mrs Hudson and smoking at least five a day whenever he had privacy. He knew smoking was also self-destructive, but he had promised not to make anymore scars.

"Count on Mr Chilton to fall asleep." A familiar voice laughed into the room.

Sherlock looked up at John. "He's _still _asleep?"

"Like a baby." He grinned.

"What's my present?"

John shuffled his shoes a little. "I'll show you… Come on."

He took Sherlock by the arm and led him through to the toilet stalls. He suddenly clicked. "You dirty boy, John Watson…"

John didn't respond, just simply hurled them into the stall furthest away from the entrance and secured the door. The toilet seat was slammed down and Sherlock then found himself sitting on it, John straddling his lap. He felt fingers weaving into his curls and then those damn perfect lips on his own. A soft moan escaped him and suddenly the kissing stopped.

"You need to be quiet, okay?" John whispered.

"I'll try."

John recaptured their lips and moved his body closer so that Sherlock was able to feel his erection hard against his own. John grinded against him and it took Sherlock all he had to hold back any form of sound.

He was completely pinned down now, with John holding his hands down onto the seat, gripping his wrists. Sherlock tried to move so he could touch John, but he seemed insistent on the dominance and tightened his hold.

Abruptly, John pulled away and tugged them onto their feet. Sherlock gave him a quizzical look and was answered with a shove against the wall. He was suddenly exceptionally grateful for the fact that the walls and door reached the floor so their feet weren't visible…

They were kissing again, even more fervently than before and John was working on the buttons of Sherlock's trousers. He couldn't believe that they were doing this in such a public place, even though he was aware nobody would be using this facility for quite a while. And John was being so dominant! Sherlock had never experienced this side of him before and decided that he liked it. In fact, he liked it quite a lot…

John had successfully undone Sherlock's trousers. "If you need to moan, bite your fist or something."

Sherlock's head was spinning as he tried to deduce what might be about to commence and then his school pants were around his ankles. He winced a little at the cold wall on his skin. John pulled his boxers down so his erection could be freed and Sherlock almost immediately had to raise his fist to his mouth.

A tongue was slowly lapping at this tip of his cock, and giving Sherlock had not yet received until now, he was practically making himself bleed from trying to keep quiet.

John looked up suddenly with a nervous smile and Sherlock stared down at him. He seemed petrified of doing this, so Sherlock reached down to thread his fingers once through John's hair reassuringly.

He watched John gulp, take a deep breath and then lean forward to wrap his lips around Sherlock's cock. He gasped, a little louder than he thought, and felt John tense around him. Dammit.

"Sorry…" He uttered.

He felt John relax and then slowly slide down, his hand gripping the base of Sherlock's prick. His movements were hesitant and slow, which actually caused Sherlock to feel a ridiculous amount of pleasure. John's tongue was gentle and like a layer of silk over his shaft, slurping and licking as he bobbed up and down. Sherlock allowed himself to twist his fingers into John's hair, messing it up. He was moving more confidently now, causing Sherlock to remove a hand from his hair to fist his mouth.

Just as John started to rub at Sherlock's cock, he felt his climax taking over. John was rubbing and squeezing and sucking and licking and it was sending him over the edge. He gripped onto John's hair tightly and dug his incisors into the palm of his hand; sure that he was drawing blood. He could feel his body beginning to spasm and was taken over by white noise, small whimpers escaping his mouth.

Just as Sherlock felt himself beginning to spurt, he glanced down to see that John had removed him from his mouth. He bit down harder as he watched his cum spill over John's face.

"Why… would… you… do that?" Sherlock questioned when he'd caught his breath.

John wiped at his face with toilet paper. "I didn't like it…"

Sherlock suddenly felt guilty for this and knelt down to help, swiping at a white glob on John's forehead. It had gone everywhere. There was goo on John's nose, his lips, his cheek, his hair… Sherlock didn't think he had it in him and was honestly quite shocked at the mess he had made.

"Sorry…" He said sheepishly.

"I guess it makes up for the holes you probably have in your hands."

Sherlock chuckled softly and leant in to press a kiss into John's now slightly sticky forehead. "You're amazing."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

* * *

><p>Sitting outside in his flat's small garden, Sherlock finally lit the cigarette he had been craving all day long. It wasn't because he wanted to cut; it was simply because the addiction to the nicotine had finally gotten the better of him. He knew that he had developed yet another self-destructive habit, but he figured this at least was easier to hide and if it were to kill him, it would be quite far ahead into the future.<p>

He took a long drag from the fag and let it nestle between his fingers, tapping the ash onto the floor. Today had been a rather good day, he decided. Mycroft had fulfilled his favour, John had given him the most incredible Valentine's present and had then texted him for the rest of the day during school. Sherlock smiled and treated himself to another puff.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes, is that a cigarette?!"

He knew who it was by the tenor register and allowed himself to remain calm. He took a final drag and let out a harsh cough, putting the cigarette out. When he turned to face the back door, he was greeted with an extremely livid looking John Watson. His fists were clenched at his sides and he was frowning very hard. Shit.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "You know it was, so why ask?"

"You know how I feel about smoking!"

"It helps me."

"To put yourself at risk of cancer?"

"No…" Sherlock gulped, his throat aching. "It helps my cutting urges."

John softened. "I'm happy that you're trying to find things to distract yourself with, but smoking is not the answer."

"I like it."

"I honestly don't care if you like it. You're unhealthy enough as it is! I want you to promise me that you won't smoke anymore."

"No." Sherlock frowned stubbornly.

John was suddenly enraged again. "Yes! I am begging you, Sherlock! Stop smoking! You're supposed to be intelligent!"

"I'm not stopping. I promised I wouldn't cut again and this is helping."

"Fine…" John sighed, looking exhausted. "Why would you listen to me, anyway? I'm only your boyfriend; nobody important."

Something inside Sherlock snapped. "I don't have boyfriends. I don't have friends. I am perfectly fine on my own. Don't tell me how to live my life. Perfect little John Watson barging into my life and telling me what to do…_Do my school work, stop cutting, be nicer to people_. And now you're asking me to stop smoking? I know it's self-destructive, John, but it helps. So just mind your own fucking business!"

By the time Sherlock had finished, John looked close to tears. In an instant, the anger was gone and Sherlock was taken over by guilt. John turned to leave and he quickly reached out to grasp his arm tightly, spinning him around. Two tears had dribbled down John's face and he looked like he could properly break down in seconds. Sherlock quickly wrapped his arms around his boyfriend as tight as he could.

"You're the worst boyfriend." John sniffed.

"I'm so sorry!" Sherlock sputtered apologetically. "Please, you have to forgive me! I need you! I need you like you wouldn't believe! You've changed me so much and it's been for the better. I didn't mean what I said, please believe me."

"You're such a child sometimes."

"I know… I'm sorry, Johnny."

John pulled away looking horrified. "Don't ever call me that."

Sherlock smiled and wiped John's tears away, still feeling quite distressed. He wasn't entirely sure where his rude outburst had come from. He was rude anyway, but rarely ever to John. Perhaps it was the nicotine? No, that couldn't be it. The nicotine usually calmed him down.

He frowned. "I don't know what came over me…"

"Honestly, you're so dumb sometimes." John sniffled. "It's not exactly unheard of for a person with Asperger's to get like that when someone takes away what they like. I know you don't usually get angry with me, but it was something you really wanted."

"I know… I know that. But I'm still sorry for saying I don't have boyfriends or friends. Or being so spiteful toward the help you've been giving me. And just for the record, you are perfect."

John kissed Sherlock softly. "I just remembered… Thank you for the gifts."

"Glad you liked them."

"Though, I have to ask… Cover me in strawberry jam and lick me all over…?"

Sherlock was confused. "Pardon?"

"Yeah… And have me tied to your bed in nothing but my school scarf?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"All of your gifts had very kinky anonymous notes attached to them… You did send me those, right?" John looked equally as perplexed.

Realisation came over Sherlock. "Oh for God's sake… I will _kill_ Mycroft!"

John giggled. "Your brother being creepy again? Tell him I am flattered, but more interested in you."

"I'm sorry about that. I asked Mycroft to buy and deliver all those things as anonymous gifts for you. Apparently he thought it would be amusing to tamper with them."

"You know… I have my school scarf with me…" John winked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you're into, but the idea of you being tied to my bed in a scarf is not appealing… I'd rather you without the scarf."

John giggled again and tugged Sherlock inside, heading in the direction of the kitchen. Sherlock felt puzzled. What on Earth did John want from the kitchen? He supposed it might be because he wants a cup of tea as Sherlock hadn't bothered to offer him one. But instead of walking to the kettle, John went straight to the cupboard above the stove… And pulled the out a jar of strawberry jam.

He spread some over his tongue. "Are thoothoingthoo thick it thoff?"

Sherlock tried hard not to laugh at John's jam lisp and went over to stick his tongue down John's throat. The strawberry spread tasted fantastic and Sherlock couldn't seem to stop dominating John's mouth. He licked over his gums, his teeth and over his tongue until he had gotten every single last glob of jam. John was moaning softly and then pulled away, a satisfied grin in place.

"Jeez, you sort of when crazy on me then."

"I forgot to tell you that strawberry jam is my favourite food." Sherlock admitted sheepishly.

John chuckled and made his way to the hallway and Sherlock bounded behind him like an excited rabbit, wanting to know what he had in store for him next. Upon entering his bedroom, Sherlock watched John climb onto his bed and build a small nest with his pillows, curling into a ball. He was so adorable.

"Comfortable?" Sherlock smirked.

John smiled up at him and reached out, obviously indicating that he wanted Sherlock to join him. He lay down beside him and pulled him into a loose hug, nuzzling his face into John's hair. Sherlock was so in love with this boy that it sometimes scared him. He had caused him to actually care for another human being and allow him to feel the emotion of love. Sherlock didn't understand why they couldn't publicise their relationship.

He took a deep breath. "John?"

"Hmm?"

"May I propose something?"

John sat up on his elbows. "I guess…"

"Could we possibly… Follow the social convention of becoming 'Facebook official'?" Sherlock stared hard at him.

Almost immediately, John moved away from him and sat up against the wall, a pained expression on his face. "I'm not ready."

"John, we've been together for at least a month now."

"I know! But I'm not ready to tell people, okay? The only people in the world who know I'm gay are you and Harriet. I'm not ready…"

"Are you ashamed of me?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

John's face was stricken with dismay. "No! It's got nothing to do with the fact that _you_ are my boyfriend. I just can't tell anyone. You know what our school is like."

"Yes, I do. I've been bullied for four years straight. But I never stood up to them. Maybe if we show how proud we are they will leave us be."

"For a genius, you sure are dumb," John hissed. "Maybe the girls won't say much, but the boys will beat the crap out of us. What part of that don't you understand?"

"There is nothing that I don't understand. I just think you would be worth it. I want to tell people that you are my boyfriend and that I'm proud of who I am." Sherlock murmured.

He watched John fall silent and stare down at his hands. Sherlock could feel his throat aching and his chest tightening, but refused to cry. He wasn't going to, he wasn't going to… A tear slipped from the corner of his eye. And then another. And they kept on dribbling down his face until he felt his shoulders shaking.

"Please don't…" John insisted.

"I'm sick of it!" Sherlock cried through his sobs. "All this goddamn secrecy! I'm tired of having to ignore you at school unless we're in Biology. I'm sick of having to wait until there are no students around until we can walk down the streets. I'm absolutely over the fact that the only person who knows about us is Mrs Hudson."

John went over to the door. "I can't do this right now… Just know that I'm sorry. I'm not trying to hurt you, Sherlock. I guess I'll talk to you later."

Sherlock watched him leave and rested his head into his hands. It wasn't fair. He understood that publicising their relationship was bait for any form of bully, but it was getting to the point where he honestly didn't care. He would happily be punched in the nose or kicked in the ribs if it meant someone other than his adopted mother knew about them.

Getting up from his bed, Sherlock found Mrs Hudson's secret supply and went out into the garden. He lit up a fag with shaky fingers and took a long, needed drag of nicotine. It was fantastic. After all of the arguing he had done with John this afternoon, it was all he needed and the cigarette almost instantly calmed him down. Sitting down on the porch step, he watched the sun begin to set and heard children being called into their homes by nervous mothers. His pocket vibrated and he rested his smoke down on the concrete.

_Don't forget my party next week, Holmes! And remember… John will be waiting._


	7. Meet the Watsons

**Author's Note: This chapter has been recently edited. All chapters are being edited. Sex scene in this chapter. Talk of physical abuse.**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine.**

* * *

><p>"So when do I get to meet Sherlock?"<p>

John choked on his cornflakes and coughed violently. His mother was smiling down at him a bit too enthusiastically, pointing a spatula at his face. He knew this would be coming eventually, considering he honestly did talk about him a lot. But he didn't think that his mother would ever ask to properly meet him.

He cleared his throat and gulped some orange juice. "Sorry, what?"

"You know, your new friend you're always talking about! When do I get to meet him?"

"Er, I dunno… Why do you want to?"

His mother continued making his father's breakfast. "I've already met Roland, but you keep mentioning Sherlock. It's strange that you are apparently so close with him and haven't brought him over."

"Well, he doesn't really like meeting new people…" John was going to try and avoid this, he decided.

"Nonsense!" His mother scoffed. "Invite him for dinner tonight and then he can stay. I'll set up the spare room for him and we can have a nice big roast. I'll make sure Harriet will be here, too!"

"What will I be here for?" John's sister sauntered into the kitchen.

His mother faced her and smiled. "Johnny's inviting his friend to stay the night. We're going to have a nice roast dinner, so I want you to be here, please!"

Harriet glanced at John with a smirk. "What friend is this then?"

"Sherlock Holmes…" John answered uncomfortably.

His sister was grinning at him knowingly now, running her tongue suggestively on her teeth as if to say she knew something was going on between them. He had told her a little bit about Sherlock. Mostly that they were lab partners, but she didn't know about their relationship; none of his family did. So the idea of having Sherlock stay for the night as well as join in for a family dinner made him sweat with anxiety. Sherlock had been rather distressed lately about not telling people of their relationship and often came close to making it obvious; John was worried that Sherlock might come out to his parents.

"Well, what are you waiting for?!" John's mother interrupted his thoughts. "Text him, call him or do whatever it is you teenagers do these days!"

John rinsed his bowl in the sink. "I will later, okay? But I can't promise that he'll come."

He made a dash to his bedroom, trying to escape the subject. He collapsed onto his bed face first and groaned into his pillow. John decided he would at least ask Sherlock if he would come, but was desperately hoping the answer would be a no. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if it was. Sherlock was barely talking to him at the moment because of what happened between them on Valentine's Day. Even in Biology he was lucky to receive a few words.

There was a knock on the door and then Harriet walked in, making herself at home on the back of his legs. John rolled over so she was now sitting on his knees and frowned at her disapprovingly.

"I'm not a couch." He complained.

"Oh well," she shrugged. "So, are you and Sherlock shagging, or…?"

John blushed furiously. "No!"

"So it's platonic then?"

"Well… No…"

"Ha!" Harriet clapped her hands together. "I knew you had a secret boyfriend! I hear you two on Skype all the time."

Slowly, John pulled his legs out from underneath his sister and they sat up against the wall together. John wanted desperately to tell her everything. Not a single person in his family knew about him and Sherlock. He wanted to tell her about his first boyfriend, his first proper gay experience and that he was slowly falling for the boy.

"How long then?" Harriet asked.

"Um, just over a month…"

"And you didn't think to tell me?! Jeez, I thought we were closer than that." Harriet grinned. "So, how far have you gone?"

John felt his ears growing warm again. "Er… Well… I guess you could say everything but sex…"

"I'm not gonna lie, I'm super excited right now. So what's he like?"

"Well… He's different."

"Is he hot?"

"Handsome is a better word…" John felt himself smiling.

"So who knows?"

"Well, you… And his adopted mother,"

Harriet nodded. "Still not ready to tell people, then?"

"No… Not yet…" John lowered his eyes.

"I know it's different for you 'cause you're not as proud as I was. But you need to come out eventually."

"You're right, it is different for me," John answered hotly. "Why is everyone pressuring this so much? Do you have any idea what my new school is like, Harriet? My apparent closest friend bullies Sherlock every single day and hates gays. He would beat me to a bloody pulp if he knew! So yes, I am scared of coming out. In fact I'm fucking terrified."

"Alright, gay boy, calm down," Harriet said defensively. "What do you mean he bullies Sherlock?"

John felt his eyes watering. "Can I please talk to you about something really serious? Like, _really_ serious…"

"Oh my God, it's not sex is it? Because I'd prefer it if you Googled that stuff…"

"No! No… It's to do with the bullying,"

"Do I need to hit anyone?" Harriet's blue eyes were filled with concern.

"Um… Well… My friend Roland… He really hates Sherlock and he's come up with a plan to invite him to his birthday and make him walk in on me kissing one of my other friends called Molly so he will be heartbroken and then want to kill himself." John was breathless when he finished.

Harriet's mouth had fallen. "What a fucking wanker!"

"Yeah… He's told me if I don't go ahead with it he'll beat the crap out of me…"

"Where does the fucker live? I will cut him in his sleep! You're not seriously gonna go do it are you?"

"I don't want to. But what am I supposed to do?"

"Stand up for yourself, John! Jesus… You need to tell Sherlock. If you're still gonna do it, at least tell him so he knows it's just this guy being a prick."

John lowered his head shamefully and felt tears stinging his eyes. He wanted to tell Sherlock, he really did. But he was a coward. He honestly just didn't want to risk getting beaten up, as selfish as that sounded. He almost began to laugh as he remembered Roland's words from day one, "_That's Sherlock Holmes. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from him."_ It was really Sherlock who should stay away from John. He didn't deserve Sherlock at all.

"I'm gonna go out for a bit and be back in time for dinner," Harriet interrupted his thoughts. "But call me if you need me. And John?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell Sherlock,"

John watched as his sister left and then stared over at his phone. He knew he had to call Sherlock and invite him over to keep his mother happy, but he couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety that was sitting in his chest. What if Sherlock said yes? He would have to face him after a week of almost silence and most likely tell him about Roland's plan. And what if Sherlock came out to his parents about their relationship?

"Get over yourself, John Hamish Watson," he breathed. "Just call him."

With a deep breath and nervous fingers, he brought up Sherlock's name on his phone and hit "call". Butterflies were swimming around in his stomach and it felt like hours before suddenly he heard a muffled sound and then,

"You know I prefer to text,"

"Hey," John almost stuttered. "I know, sorry… Are you busy? I can text you later instead..."

"I was only sleeping, nothing important." Sherlock yawned.

John smiled. "Were you really?" Sherlock never slept. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"It was alright; a solid hour or so."

"So listen um… Do you wanna come for dinner and stay the night?"

"I'm not hungry,"

"You might be later when it's actually dinner time…"

Another yawn, "Why should I come for dinner?"

"Mum wants to meet you…"

"Why?"

John sighed. "Because she wants to meet 'the friend I'm always talking about'."

"What time do I need to be there?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

"Um, probably around five… Dinner is usually at six… That cool?"

"Guess so."

"Oh and… Wear something nice? If you own anything nice…"

"I'll do my best."

"I'll text you my address… And one more thing…" John felt a lump in his throat.

"Yes, John?"

"I'm sorry… For everything…"

* * *

><p>John was nervous. In fact, he was nervous as all hell. Sherlock was expected to be here any minute now and over the past two hours, he had changed into three different shirts due to sweating. Harriet had tried to calm him down, telling him of the "amazing sex" they would have later when everyone had gone to bed. But frankly John didn't find her jokes calming in the slightest. Why couldn't she understand how hard this was? That he didn't want his family to know about their relationship? Or rather, he didn't want his father to know…<p>

John didn't think his father was a bad person. He earned money to put food on the table for his family, attended church every Sunday, donated his change to charities in fast food restaurants and supported his children. He had never laid a single finger on his kids or his wife, took naps on Saturday afternoons and watched the soccer religiously. But he hated gays. No, hate wasn't the right word. Loathed better suited how his father felt about them.

Having grown up in a very religious family, John's father very much believed that homosexuality was a sin and that all gay people would go to hell when they died. Usually he just tried to ignore the fact that homosexuals existed on the planet, almost as if he were in denial. But John would never forget the time when he just hit puberty and his dad told him these exact words, "_John, I am aware you've hit adolescence now. You're going to start having… sexual feelings for others. I understand that. But you need to promise me one thing… If you ever have to give into your hormones, don't let it be with a man. Homosexuals are sinful. Do you understand?"_

John tried to shake these thoughts from his head and went to sit on the couch in the living room. He glanced at his watch; it was five past five. Sherlock was late. Probably still asleep, knowing him… John started to impatiently tap his fingers on his knee, anxiety bubbling in his chest and beginning to attack his stomach. _Where is he?!_

There was a knock on the door and then his mother's voice. "Is that Sherlock, Johnny?! Let him in!"

For a moment, John felt as if he was glued to the couch, not being able to move. But with a deep breath, he forced himself up and before he knew it he was at the front door. He opened it and was honestly, very surprised at what he saw. Sherlock stood before him dressed in what looked like brand new jeans, a purple dress shirt and a ratty pair of black Converse sneakers. His hair had been cut, making his usually unruly mop of curls sit neatly upon his head. John almost let his mouth fall; Sherlock looked… Hot.

It was strange seeing Sherlock in casual clothes. Before today, John had grown used to seeing him in either his uniform or pyjamas and favourite dressing gown. Fashion was not something that interested Sherlock, apparently and so outside of school he stayed in his sleepwear due to not caring. He says he would rather be comfortable and unfashionable than fashionable and uncomfortable.

"Sherlock, you look…"

He frowned. "Mrs Hudson insisted I got it cut, despite my protests."

"It looks really nice. Like, _really _nice…" John grinned, whispering the last few words.

Sherlock smirked. "So are you going to let me in?"

John stepped aside so Sherlock could enter his house and suddenly felt a whole lot calmer. Sherlock wasn't being cold anymore and seemed to be in a genuinely half decent mood. In fact, John might even dare say that Sherlock was… Happy.

He led Sherlock through to the kitchen and popped his head in cautiously. Almost instantly, his mother turned from her vegetable chopping and smiled widely at them.

"So, the famous Sherlock!" She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over, hand outstretched.

John watched Sherlock shake her hand politely. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Watson."

His mother _blushed_. "Oh please, call me Helen!"

Sherlock shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. John could almost sense that Sherlock was unsure of what he had to do next and so he quickly grasped his sleeve and led him out of the room.

"Just gonna show him around, Mum!" John called over his shoulder.

"Dinner is at six sharp, Johnny!"

John escorted Sherlock through the house, making brief comments on certain rooms. He honestly felt quite awkward and a little snobby, considering Sherlock only lived in a small two bedroom flat that was, quite honestly looking as if it could collapse at any moment from how old it was.

"Nice house," Sherlock stated bluntly.

"Yeah… To tell you the truth I miss our old place in Essex."

Sherlock smiled at him. "London doesn't really suit you."

Just as John was about to reply, Harriet came bounding down the stairs in her usual careless manner. She was wearing black skinny jeans, a striped long-sleeved t-shirt and a ridiculous amount of eye makeup. She grinned almost devilishly when she saw Sherlock and shook his hand enthusiastically, making his eyes widen in obvious alarm.

"Er, Sherlock this is – "

"Harriet," he finished. "Obviously."

"How are you then, Sherlock?" Harriet asked, leaning back against the stair railing.

"Fine," he answered. John nudged him. "_Thank you_. Yourself?"

"Yeah, decent. So John tells me you're into forensics?"

Sherlock stood taller. "Yes. Though, I prefer detective work. I like being able to deduce a crime scene. You know, get the facts from just one look. It's all about observing. Did you know that if someone has a tattoo of six digits, it probably has deep meaning to them? It's because it usually represents the birth or death date of a person."

"Well I can't say I knew that off the top of my head, no." Harriet smirked. "Got ya self a smart one, John!"

John glared at her. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Alright, I get the hint," she replied, starting to leave. "But if you's two are gonna shag later, be quiet. I've got a lecture at eight tomorrow morning and need my beauty sleep!"

John blushed furiously and pushed her out of the room, praying to God that nobody else in the house heard that. God, Harriet could be such an ignorant and annoying sister… Sherlock was snickering beside him.

"She knows, then?" He asked, climbing the staircase.

John followed. "Yeah… Told her this morning."

"Do your parents know?"

"No…"

"Huh,"

John ignored Sherlock's sound of disapproval and continued showing him the upstairs part of the house. Eventually they reached his bedroom and he pushed the door open, not sure of what Sherlock would think. His room was pretty simple; a double bed, band posters, wardrobe and desk. His quilt set was very gender neutral; red and blue stripes. The only thing that could possibly stand out was that John was a neat freak; he couldn't stand anything being out of order and loathed mess on his floor. Everything in his room needed to be clean and tidy.

"You have the room of somebody who is in the Army." Sherlock commented.

"Yeah. I want to join, actually…"

Sherlock looked alarmed for a moment. "I respect that. But what if you join and never come back?"

"I want to be a doctor, not a soldier. I mean, I know there's that risk. But it would be worth it if I was helping people get better."

"I see," Sherlock mumbled. "You know, I half expected you to have a poster of a naked woman in here or something."

John chuckled. "Yeah, well, I didn't think I could handle that, so I put up my favourite bands instead."

He watched Sherlock go over and sit on the edge of is bed, stretching his legs out and tapping his Converse together. He slowly looked up at John, a sad smile on his face, and it was all John could do not to burst into tears. Things were so awkward now and he was sure that they would only be worse when he informed Sherlock of what Roland wanted to do to him. Just thinking about what Sherlock's face would be when he sees him kissing Molly was a direct stab to his heart.

"John?"

He shook his head clear. "Sorry. Yeah?"

"I don't mean to pressure you about telling people… I… I am sorry."

"It's okay… I'm sorry for being scared."

John stepped over to Sherlock and placed his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. He felt Sherlock slide his own arms around the small of his back in a tight squeeze and gently lowered himself so he was straddling his lap, bringing them closer. John curled his fingers into the curls on the nape of Sherlock's neck desperately, feeling a lump forming in his throat. Before he could stop himself, he was sobbing gently into Sherlock's hair.

"I love you, Sherlock." He wept. "It's okay; you don't have to say it. I just need you to know that."

The other boy held him tighter. "Just stop crying."

"I'm sorry." John wiped his snotty nose on his arm.

"Johnny, dinner's on the table!" His mother's voice called up the hall.

With a sniffle, John stood up and headed towards the door, rubbing harshly at his eyes to hide any evidence that he had been crying. They didn't feel puffy and so he was sure he was safe. He felt Sherlock's presence behind him and the two of them headed down wordlessly to the dining room. John's mother had cooked the family a huge leg of lamb with a variety of roast vegetables.

"Er, looks good, Mrs Watson," Sherlock mumbled, clearly not hungry.

"Helen!" She corrected with a big smile. "Thank you, Sherlock! I hope you're hungry!"

He nodded with a tight smile and John guided him to what was known as the "guest's" seat, next to his own. They sat down and abruptly, John heard whistling and the sound of keys being dropped onto the kitchen bench. Harriet entered the room and took her seat and then his father's head popped around the doorway.

"Sherlock!" He smiled widely. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you, Mr Watson…" Sherlock answered. "Um, how are you?"

John couldn't believe Sherlock's good behaviour, being so polite and forcing himself to ask questions instead of just answering them. He would have to reward him for this later if he got the chance…

"Tired, actually. You know how it is, long day at the office," John's father grinned, taking his place.

"No, I don't. I go to school." Sherlock replied.

John mentally face-palmed, but forced a smile. "He's joking, dad."

"Oh," his father chuckled. "Helen, how was your day?"

"Good thank you, honey!" John's mother answered, piling everyone's plates.

John sat in his chair uncomfortably whilst his parents made the usual dinner conversation and forced himself to eat. He watched Sherlock in the corner of his eye, who was refusing to make eye contact with anyone unless they asked him a question. He was moving his food around on his plate, occasionally taking a bite of potato or nibbling on a piece of roast.

"So, Sherlock!" John's father smiled across the table. "How are you doing in school?"

"I'm an A grade student," he answered.

"Impressive! Do you know what you want to do when you finish?"

"I want to become the first ever consulting detective."

John's father gave a quizzical look. "I see… Well! John's going to come and work with me at the shoe factory, aren't you, son?"

John tried not to frown and nodded. "Yep, been my dream since a kid…"

"Actually, John wants to be a doctor." Sherlock interjected.

"What are you talking about?" His father frowned, and John thumped Sherlock under the table.

Sherlock thumped back. "Yes, he wishes to become a doctor and apply for the Army."

"Is this true, John?"

He cleared his throat. "Well… Maybe… In case I don't like it at the factory…"

"Why wouldn't you like it at the factory?"

"Dad… Just forget about it…"

"Surely John is entitled to pursue the career he wants, Mr Watson."

"Sherlock, this isn't your business." John's father grimaced. "Answer my question, John."

"I just want to help people. Work with sick kids in third world countries and mend the wounds of injured soldiers. I would be a good doctor, Dad."

"So you know you need a perfect year 12 score?"

"Of course… Why do you think I've been studying so hard?"

"Just let him be a doctor, Dad," Harriet spoke up. "If it's what he wants to do, you can't change it."

"Please stop it, all of you!" John's mother exclaimed frantically.

John could feel his ears growing hot from embarrassment and then nausea in his stomach. All of a sudden his roast lamb wanted to come straight back up. He couldn't believe that this was happening. The night everyone gets to meet his (secret) boyfriend, and there has to be a family feud.

"John, I want to speak to you in the kitchen, please," his father practically growled. "Sherlock, if you wouldn't mind, go up to the guest room."

John was suddenly stricken with fear. His father looked absolutely livid. His face had gone bright red and John saw that his fists were tightly clenched as he walked to the kitchen. He felt Sherlock subtly squeeze his hand under the table and with a deep breath, stood up slowly and followed his father. Inside the kitchen, he was waiting for John leant against the bench, arms folded. John stood anxiously by the door way, shuffling his feet and focusing on the linoleum.

"When were you going to tell me?" His father almost spat.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I just… I've never been interested in the business like you. I'm fascinated by medicine." John bowed his head.

"And who the hell does this Sherlock think he is trying to tell me what you can and can't do?!"

"He's my friend; my best friend. He's only looking out for me."

"Well he has no right to say that! I want you to stay away from him!"

"Leave John alone!" Harriet's voice sounded.

Suddenly she was beside him, her arm held firmly around his waist supportively. She gave him a tight squeeze and then stepped toward their father, clearly not afraid in the slightest. John could already feel the tears forming; he knew this wasn't going to end well.

"This is none of your concern, young lady. Go and make sure your mother is okay." His father ordered.

"No, dad. Stop trying to control John just because_ I_ made my own choices."

"John isn't disobedient like you. He's the one who actually behaves out of the two of you. Never gets into trouble at school, doesn't go out binge drinking, and isn't kissing the _same sex_."

John felt the colour drain from his face at that last phrase and suddenly wanted to be religious. He hoped and prayed to God that Harriet wasn't going to say anything. _Please don't let her say anything, please…_

"Yeah, John's the golden boy," Harriet agreed. "But can't you see he's only like that because he just wants to please everyone? Live up to their expectations? Let him live his _own_ life for once!"

"Harriet, please…" John begged.

"No, I'm not done." She snapped. "John is a good son to you and mum and an awesome brother. He has done everything you've ever asked for his entire life, so just let him be a doctor! Let him go and drink! Let him wag! Let him be gay if he is! Stop giving him the impression he has to live up to your expectations of the white picket fence family!"

John's father was bright red in the face now. "John, go up to your room."

With a quick "thank you" glance toward Harriet, John did as he usually did and followed his father's orders. As he hurriedly climbed up the stairs, he could still hear Harriet and his father bickering quite loudly. Of all the nights this could happen, why did it have to be _tonight!_

Inside his room, John hurled himself onto his bed and crawled under the covers fully clothed. He didn't want to have to deal with anything else tonight; not his mother, his dad, Harriet or even Sherlock. He just wanted to sleep forever and hopefully never wake up in the morning. Either that or discover it had all been one big nightmare.

Just as John felt himself drifting off, a shout echoed throughout the house that sounded like Harriet. His eyes snapped open and then the front door slammed, followed by the sound of his sister's car screeching off. _Fuck_. John's father then started barking at his mother who could be heard cleaning dishes. What the hell sort of family was this? And John felt like it was his fault… Why couldn't he just want to work at the factory like his dad wanted?

The door creaked open. "John?"

Sherlock entered the room – still fully clothed apparently - and closed the door behind him. John didn't bother to respond. He knew if he spoke it would only encourage tears and so he burrowed his head underneath his quilt, hoping Sherlock would think he's asleep. He felt his mattress sink and then a hand pulling back the quilt. He closed his eyes firmly.

"I know you're awake,"

_Dammit._ "Sorry you had to hear all that…"

"You should probably know that Harriet won't be coming back for a long time. Your dad hit her."

John sat up abruptly. "He _what_?!"

"Sorry… I should probably be more sensitive… Yes, he did. I could tell. Simple deduction. But I imagine she will fill you in tomorrow."

John laughed pessimistically, a tear dribbling down his face. "My life is literally just crashing around me. Everything is so fucked up right now."

"You still have me." Sherlock smiled sadly. "If that's any consolation."

Another tear fell and John reached out to grasp the back of Sherlock's head, pulling him into a forceful and messy kiss. He hadn't kissed him in over a week now and he needed this. He needed Sherlock's chapped lips on his, to feel his tongue in his mouth and curl his fingers in that mess of hair. John clung desperately to Sherlock's curls and pulled him closer; sure he was bruising his lips. A moan escaped Sherlock and John pulled away.

"I need to ask you something."

Sherlock pressed their foreheads together. "Shoot."

"Will you fuck me, in my bed, with my parents in the house?"

"…Now?"

"Now, . Fuck me. I need it. I need you. All of you."

John watched Sherlock lick his lips and then dip his head down, hungrily attacking his mouth. He felt Sherlock pull the bed clothes down and climb on top of him, pressing their groins together tightly. John was already ridiculously hard and the feeling of Sherlock's own dick against his was making it a whole lot worse. He had never needed release so badly in his whole life. John whimpered as Sherlock kissed a trail along his jawline down to his neck, gently sinking his teeth into it.

"Ah!" He cried out. "Don't bite!"

Sherlock stopped. "Too hard?"

"Oh my God, you idiot, I wasn't being serious! Get back on top of me!"

John's boyfriend gave a sigh of relief and returned to his neck nibbling, beginning to swiftly unbutton his shirt. As Sherlock pushed the material aside, John reached down to palm his erection eliciting a noisy groan and a harsh exhale. Sherlock's cock was straining against the denim of his jeans and John decided to help him out. A tongue started lapping at his nipple, making him lose focus for a second. God dammit, why did his nipples have to be so sensitive…? _Concentrate, John!_ He slid the metal button out of place and dragged the zipper down, revealing Sherlock's usual satin boxers. Another moan and exhale.

"John… You do… Have… Stuff… Right?" Sherlock asked, kissing down his abdomen.

John had almost forgotten about that. "Yeah… I've got condoms and I'm pretty sure there's lube with the box."

With a nod, Sherlock continued kissing until he reached the waistband of John's jeans; which he undid with his _teeth_. John tossed his head to the side with a moan, feeling his briefs being slid down his legs and then nimble fingers tracing his cock. Lazily cracking an eyelid, John watched as Sherlock leant down and slowly took in his entire length, gripping the bottom of his dick in a very tight squeeze. He began to move up and down, his lips firm around him, applying the right amount of friction to drive John crazy. Pre-cum was leaking out of his cock and he moaned generously.

"Ngghh, Sherlock! Fuck… Need you now…"

Sherlock stopped and slid off the bed. "Direct me."

"Top drawer of my desk."

"Really, John?" Sherlock asked upon opening it. "Your _sock drawer?_ I read online that that is considered 'amateur'."

"Oh shut up and fuck me, would you?"

Whilst Sherlock retrieved the condoms and lube, John kicked his pants off onto the floor as well as his underwear and felt butterflies in his stomach. What if he didn't like it? What if Sherlock was too big? What if _Sherlock_ didn't like it? What if, what if, what if…

"Sherlock… I'm a little scared now…"He admitted meekly.

Sherlock leant over him and kissed his forehead. "Me too."

"Really…?"

"Of course. I'm not exactly a sex God. But I'll do my best."

John chuckled, calming down. "Okay… Okay, I'm ready."

With a nod, Sherlock pressed their lips together gently and John heard the crinkling of the condom being opened. A rustle of clothes being removed was audible and then John felt Sherlock's now sheathed cock pressed hard against his stomach as they kissed, slowly and passionately. John then discarded Sherlock's shirt in a few hasty movements and let his hands and fingers explore, feeling the curve of Sherlock's neck and the planes of his chest.

Sherlock pulled away. "How do you want to be?"

"I don't really know…" John blushed. "How do you want me?"

"On… On your hands and knees… Is that okay?"

"I guess so… Jeez, how much porn have you been watching?"

"Irrelevant," Sherlock answered, glancing down. "I'll prepare you like this first."

John nodded and then suddenly over taken by embarrassment, reached over and turned his bedside lamp off. He didn't really like the idea of Sherlock being able to clearly see his arsehole, even if his dick was going to be in it. Sherlock gave him a reassuring smile and John watched him fumble in the now darkened room to open the small packet of lube. The plastic was torn and then John felt a slick, cold finger rubbing at his entrance. It tickled a little and he bit his tongue to keep from giggling.

"This might hurt. So I apologise for possible future reference." Sherlock murmured.

Before John could respond, the finger pushed its way slowly inside him and he had to grip the bed sheets to stop from crying out. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it was a very foreign feeling and a little bit pleasurable. He inhaled deeply and watched Sherlock as he began to move his index finger in and out of him, stretching his tight hole. He then added another finger with more lube, this time causing John to feel a small amount of pain. He whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sherlock asked, leaning over him.

John kissed him gently. "I'm fine. It… Feels good. Please, keep going."

Sherlock stretched him a while longer before pulling his fingers out and opening another packet of the lubricant. With nerves dominating his body, John could do nothing but stare at Sherlock as he coated his erection thick with the gel and then sit up on his knees. He slid his hands underneath John's waist and rolled him over. With a deep breath, John got up on all fours and gulped uneasily as he felt Sherlock grasp his hips, pressing his cock against his arse.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said, gingerly pushing into him. "Oh fuck… So tight…"

John gritted his teeth as he felt Sherlock inside him, filling him up. He was sure he would need a whole lot more lube if he was going to endure an entire session of love making with a dick _that big _inside of his arse. There was no pleasure whatsoever at the moment, just a burning sensation and John felt his eyes watering. He forced himself to toughen up, knowing that it should eventually feel incredible and gripped his sheet tightly in both hands. Sherlock suddenly began to move, very slowly, causing the burn to intensify and John was sure he was about to tell Sherlock to stop. But then Sherlock somehow managed to manoeuvre to the right spot and…

"SHERLOCK!" John gasped. "THERE! PLEASE, THERE!"

With a grunt, Sherlock gripped John's hips more firmly and began to thrust harder, hitting his prostate with dead on accuracy. John was sure that he was dreaming, because this sort of pleasure simply did not exist. It was like having an actual orgasm from a wank, but not and John moaned loudly just thinking about what his actual climax would be like.

Forgotten for a while, John suddenly remembered his aching cock that was hanging between his thighs, begging for attention. He reached down for it and rubbed clumsily, unable to concentrate properly from the pounding Sherlock was giving him behind. Sherlock was moaning uncontrollably by this point and letting out a string of swear words John didn't even know existed. He knew that Sherlock's release was growing near by the frantic and harsh thrusts he was giving John and he rubbed at his dick harder.

"John… John! John, ah! John I'm going... I'm going to…" Sherlock sobbed.

John could feel his breathing becoming erratic and stroked himself as fast as he could, sweat dripping down his face. Sherlock was now moving in short, fast and uncontrolled thrusts, his breath coming out in raspy gasps with each penetration. John could feel the end nearing as his hips began to tremble and the pleasure in his cock becoming all too much. Desperate sobs escaped his lips as he felt his prostate receiving that final, needed hit and then everything went white. John heard a very faint, sharp cry from Sherlock and then his legs gave out just as cum spurted out all over his fingers and sheet. He was sure that he would never be able to walk again; his legs felt numb. Still breathing quite frantically, John opened his eyes to discover that Sherlock had collapsed on top of him and wasn't moving.

"You alright?" John breathed.

"Can't… Move… Never want another orgasm again…"

John laughed. "I'll hold you to that."

"Please don't." Sherlock replied, suddenly able to sit up again.

John rolled over. "Hurry up and take that rubber off so you can cuddle me."

"How masculine of us," Sherlock smirked, going to the bin.

John sighed, feeling rather content. It had been a shit night, but as per usual Sherlock somehow managed to make him feel better; in multiple ways, actually. Hell, he was sure he wouldn't need another wank for quite some time now after that. And when he was able to jerk off again, tonight was sure to be the fuel of his fantasies for a very long time.

The bed sank beside him, and John felt Sherlock gather him into his arms. They were both ridiculously sweaty and sticky from each other's bodily fluids and the room smelt musty of sex. Out of nowhere, realisation came over John as he remembered that he needed to tell Sherlock about the party. It made him feel sick and like the cry baby that he was, a lump formed in his throat.

"I need to tell you something," he mumbled.

Sherlock squeezed tighter. "Me too, actually. It's important. Can I go first?"

"I-I guess…"

"It's just that… Every time I see you, this warm feeling spreads through my chest and I get this weird sensation in my legs as if they are going to collapse. Whenever you leave me, the pit of my stomach goes cold and this sense of… Longing fills me. I never want you to go and the thought of you disappearing from my life completely… Well, it terrifies me. John Hamish Watson… I… Well. Basically, the only deduction I can make from these facts is that… I love you."

Those three words were all it took for John's tear ducts to fail him and suddenly he was a blubbering mess, smearing snot all over Sherlock's bare chest. Sherlock clearly didn't understand what was going on and continuously kissed him on the forehead, begging him to stop. If John had hated himself before, he felt nothing but pure, self-loathing now. He had actually caused Sherlock, the boy with no emotions, to fall in love with him. Not just puppy love, actual love; the sort of love where you would die for the person in a heartbeat. And John was going to tear that all apart just because he was too much of a coward.

"Please, stop it… You know how I feel about you crying… What is the matter? People aren't usually supposed to react like this; unless of course you're happy. But considering you are getting mucous all over me, I highly doubt that's the case." Sherlock was evidently panicking.

John sniffled. "I'm sorry. Sherlock, you know about the party, right? Roland invited you?"

"Yes, I know."

"Well you see… He's planned something… Something really horrible… And I – "

Sherlock pressed a finger to John's lips. "It's okay. I know."

"You know…?" John frowned.

"Of course. It was a very simple deduction. Perny is going to humiliate me, yes? Obviously. Why else would he invite me to his own party? He never has before. Therefore he obviously wants to embarrass me in front of everyone."

"Yes, but – "

"It's okay, John. It will all be fine. If whatever he has planned happens, I'm not going to take it seriously. I'm stronger than that and a whole lot smarter than him."

John wasn't sure. "Well… Okay…"

"It'll be fine. I might even play along to mess with their incompetent, little brains." Sherlock grinned.

"Hm, maybe you should try to be a little human instead…"

Sherlock kissed John gently. "I'd better go back to my room now. Don't suppose you really want to explain to your parents tomorrow morning when we come out of the same bedroom together."

"Not particularly…" John answered. "Okay, well, I'll see you in the morning… Night."

He watched Sherlock stumble around the room in search of his clothes and then open the door to leave. Sherlock gave him a wide, genuine smile and then disappeared into the hallway. With a sigh, John rolled onto his side and curled up underneath his duvet in the foetal position. Four days until Roland's party. Four days until he kissed Molly. Four days until Sherlock Holmes would never want to speak to him again.


	8. All Nightmare Long

**Author's Note: **_Firstly, I think an apology is needed for the lateness of an update. I'm not going to flood you with excuses, just apologise for taking so long. I hope this chapter is worth the wait. It actually didn't take me that long to write, I just simply had too much on my mind to write it. But I promise you, even when it takes forever for me to update, this fic WILL be finished eventually. I don't plan to ever drop out on you and delete it. I promise._

Oh. In this chapter, there is alcohol. Obviously. And I had no idea what teenagers drink over in England, so naturally I googled it. I figured WKD would be appropriate given it is an alcopop. But I did get very confused as to what flavour the red ones are. There were multiple answers: raspberry, cherry, cranberry and mixed fruits. I found mixed fruits on more websites than the others, but if it is wrong, I apologise. I hope it doesn't bother you.

_Also: trigger warning…_

So here is chapter 8. I will say nothing about it. Enjoy and please send me reviews cheers! You're all amazing for still reading this and sticking by me!

_Oh and P.S I have tried to use a majority of all the characters from Sherlock apart from Jim. Most people use Jim as the antagonist, but I wanted to create my own version of him._

_-Jack_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Sherlock._

* * *

><p>Sherlock despised parties. He hated the idea of being in one venue full of people that were socialising and drinking and pressing up against each other in a hazy, delusional mess. Honestly, what could they possibly be getting out of such events? A hangover? An unwanted pregnancy? A homosexual experience never to be spoken of again? A reputation from the amount of boys you kissed? Sherlock didn't think that any party could ever be worth any of those things unless you wanted to learn the lesson of using contraception and the need to control your liquor intake.<p>

During the whole seventeen years he had been alive, Sherlock had attended a single party. He lasted barely a few hours and was forced by Mrs Hudson. This party had been that of Benjamin Mort, a boy in his class when they were both seven years old. He had walked up to Sherlock, picking his nose and holding a piece paper that looked like it had yoghurt spilt on it. "Come to my party," he'd said. "I'm having a clown and a basketball cake." Sherlock had wanted to say no, that he didn't like parties, but Benjamin had shoved the invitation into his hand and skipped off to his friends.

When he got home, Sherlock tried to hide the invitation in the bottom of his school bag. But it took Mrs Hudson all of ten minutes to sniff it out, hidden underneath his library book on dinosaurs. "What's this, Locky?" She asked, surprised. "A birthday party? We'll go shopping tomorrow afternoon for Benjamin!" And they had. Sherlock claimed that he didn't know what Benjamin liked and so in the end, they settled on an astronomy book, which Sherlock had coincidently wanted and read on the way home.

The day of the party came. Mrs Hudson dressed Sherlock in his best clothes, dropped him off at Benjamin's house and promised to pick him up at two o'clock on the dot. Inside the house, Sherlock was greeted by Benjamin's mother, a snobby nosed woman, who led him outside where the other children were. Benjamin's clown had a big red nose and multi-coloured hair and Sherlock soon discovered that his name was Bozo. All the children were sitting on the grass watching him make balloon animals, but Sherlock wasn't interested. He walked around the backyard until he found somewhere he could sit and read Benjamin's book that Mrs Hudson hadn't had time to wrap.

After a good half an hour, one of the parents found Sherlock behind the shed he'd chosen and told him that it was time for presents and cake. He followed her inside where everyone else was gathered around Benjamin, handing over their gifts. When it was Sherlock's turn, he refused to let go of the book and ended up punching Benjamin quite hard. There was a blood nose, a horrified mother and a phone call to Mrs Hudson. On the drive home, Sherlock clutched Benjamin's present to his chest and watched Mrs Hudson with tears in her eyes. "They just don't understand how special you are, Locky." She'd whispered.

"Don't make me do that again." Sherlock replied.

Now, at the age of seventeen, Sherlock was stood in front of the bathroom mirror, making sure he looked presentable for Perny's party. All of his clothes were brand new, thanks to Mrs Hudson taking him shopping. He wore black jeans, red Converse and a tight fitting, black dress shirt. Sherlock had already phoned John twice to make sure what he had decided to wear would be acceptable. The second time John had responded with, _"Sherlock, if you don't stop describing how shaggable you're going to look tonight, I will come over there and we won't even make it to the party."_

With a deep breath and a hand through his hair, Sherlock went out to the kitchen where Mrs Hudson was waiting for him. She smiled warmly, her blue eyes looking glassy and reached over to embrace him. Sherlock gladly accepted the hug and pressed a kiss into his adopted mother's hair before pulling away.

"I should be home by midnight." He said, holding her shoulders reassuringly.

Mrs Hudson gave him a sad smile, clearly worried. "I don't want you to drink, okay, Locky? I don't know how it will affect you."

"Honestly, Mrs Hudson, do you really think that I would stoop to that level? Not to worry; I'll be fine."

"And you're sure that you don't need a lift?"

Sherlock turned away to walk. "He lives five minutes away. I'll see you when I'm home."

He headed out the front door and pulled out his phone, hastily typing John a text to let him know he was on his way. John had already given Sherlock a list of behaviours that wouldn't be acceptable at the party tonight and had warned him that they might not get to talk very much. Sherlock didn't mind. He knew that Perny had something humiliating in store for him and began chuckling as he thought of how pathetic he and his followers all were. Minus John of course.

As Sherlock turned onto Corrison Avenue, he could see cars parked down the road and hear the sound of bass. He soon approached a house traditionally displaying a bunch of balloons on the letterbox. Perny's house.

With a quick adjustment of his shirt, Sherlock ventured up the path to the front door and reached out to knock. He hesitated. Were you supposed to knock at parties? Sherlock honestly had no idea given the last one he attended was at the age of seven. But he decided to knock anyway and stood waiting patiently, Perny's present in hand. He hadn't wanted to get him a gift. But as per usual, Mrs Hudson had insisted and they ended up choosing a t-shirt with an apparently amusing slogan on the front of it.

After a few minutes, the door still hadn't been answered. With a frustrated sigh, Sherlock made for the side of the house where he could hear people chatting over the sound of the music. He turned the corner and collided into something small and stocky, causing him to stumble backward.

Sherlock glanced up, dazed. "Ow… Watch where you're going!"

"Sherlock?"

With a shake of his head, he allowed his eyes to focus on the person he had apparently bumped into. John sat in front of him on the grass, holding his nose and half smiling. A feeling of warmth spread through Sherlock and he instantly went over to help him up.

"Are you okay? I didn't see you."

John smiled properly. "I'm fine. You?"

"Yes."

There was an awkward pause. Sherlock hadn't really seen John since the night he went over for dinner. They had shared a few Biology lessons together and glanced at each other in hallways, but even then the two of them had felt a little embarrassed in each other's presence. Sherlock wondered if it was normal to be so sheepish and nervous after having sex for the first time with your partner.

"You look really nice tonight." John said, taking a step forward.

John looked really nice, too. He was wearing his favourite blue jeans, white canvas shoes and a tight, plain white t-shirt that outlined his muscles a little too perfectly. Sherlock thought that if he stared at John any longer he would make a hole in his jeans.

"That shirt is very distracting, John Watson…"

Sherlock barely saw John blush in the dim light and then watched as he cautiously glanced over his shoulder. He shot John a confused look and then suddenly found himself pressed up against the wall of the house. He felt John's lips on his own and moaned softly, not having kissed him for almost two weeks. Perny's present slipped from Sherlock's fingers and landed with a soft thud on the grass. He gently placed his hands on John's waist and pulled him closer, spreading his lips with his tongue. Just as John threaded his fingers into Sherlock's curls, he pulled away with a sigh.

"We can't get carried away…" John glanced down, appearing sad.

"Hey," Sherlock murmured, rubbing a thumb down his cheek. "It's fine."

"Ha, I wish… C'mon, you better go 'round the back where everyone is."

With a stiff nod, Sherlock readjusted his jeans and followed John to the backyard. There were around fifty to seventy students all spread out between Perny's large backyard and the rear end of his house. The vast majority of them held alcoholic beverages in their hands and they were all chatting and laughing and dancing and kissing. Sherlock felt his eyes roll in the back of his head. They were all so boring.

"Roland!" John called, moving across the yard. "Found Holmes out the front!"

Sherlock felt his heart sink a little as he witnessed John treating him the way he said he would have to. He knew it was so Perny didn't grow suspicious, but it still stung. He shook these feelings from himself and focused as he saw Perny crossing the grass toward him. He had his arm around John with a bottle of beer in his hand.

"Glad you could make it, Holmes." He purred.

"I'm sure." Sherlock frowned.

Perny grinned. "What's this? No present for me?"

Sherlock remembered that he dropped it, but didn't care. "No present for you. Sorry."

He turned away, receiving an apologetic look from John as he did so. He spotted Lestrade who was standing with a girl Sherlock was familiar with and who seemed to be pointing at him, whispering. Yes, Sherlock knew her alright. Sally Donovan. She was in his year and according to Lestrade, wanted to become a police officer. For reasons Sherlock did not know, Sally had never seemed to like him. Ever since they met in year 8, she had called him "freak" whenever they passed in the hallways.

"Sherlock." Lestrade nodded.

"Lestrade."

"Hello, freak."

"So are you still sleeping with Anderson?" Sherlock sneered.

"How the hell do you know that?" His voice sounded from behind.

Anderson was one of those people you either liked or you didn't, and Sherlock could not stand him. He always said things that weren't funny and pointed out the obvious. He wanted to become a forensic scientist, which meant that one day he and Sherlock might have to work together. Just the thought made him cringe.

Sherlock turned and smiled. "You pick Sally up every single day after school and there is no way you would be studying every night; I know you don't care about half of your subjects. Plus you're stupid. Also, I caught you sending her a very intimate message once when we had to pair up for Chemistry a few weeks ago. You're still taking her home with you, so obviously you are still sleeping with her."

"Freak…" Sally muttered. "Come on, let's go."

She led Anderson inside, keeping a firm grasp on his hand and glancing back at Sherlock witheringly. He and Lestrade were left alone for a moment. Sherlock wasn't sure what sort of conversation he was supposed to engage in at parties, so he stood awkwardly, his hands in his pockets.

Lestrade cleared his throat. "You and John Watson, then?"

"What about us?"

"Platonic? Casually shagging? Boyfriends? What?"

"I assure you, Lestrade, that it's none of your business…" Sherlock swallowed. "But we're… Platonic. Only friends. Nothing more."

Just saying the words hurt. Sherlock turned away, his throat aching with a combination of sadness and anger. Lestrade was the closest thing he had to a friend and yet he still couldn't tell him anything about John. This wasn't fair. Why was the world so ignorant?

"S'all right, mate." Lestrade mumbled. "You don't have to lie about it. I don't care."

Sherlock spun around. "What did you just say?"

"I don't care?"

"So you know? I mean… Shit. How long?"

Lestrade opened his mouth to speak but was harshly interrupted by Perny stumbling over, a bottle of what Sherlock assumed was an alcopop in his hand. He clapped his hand over Lestrade's back with a wide grin and held the bottle out to Sherlock.

"Come on, Holmes. You can at least have a drink for me."

"I do not drink." Sherlock frowned.

"Well now's a good time to start!"

"No thank you."

Perny pushed the bottle into Sherlock's hand. "Just one. You'll like it, I promise you."

Sherlock studied the glass object. It was 4% alcohol and called "WKD Red". According to the bottle it was supposed to have a mixed fruits flavoured despite its red appearance which would usually indicate raspberry or cherry. Sherlock had to admit, he was very curious and he didn't think that at least tasting the popular substance would do any harm.

"Come on, Holmes, I can see that you want to try it."

He grimaced, but twisted his thumb and forefinger around the screw top so to open the bottle. Hesitant, he sniffed just above the opening to smell a variety of fruits, like the label suggested. The sweet scent made his nostrils flare and he brought the glass rim to his lips. The liquid coated Sherlock's tongue and he instantly felt surprised by the fact that he actually quite liked the taste. It was as sweet as it smelt, though he found the mix of fruity flavours to be quite enjoyable.

"So? You like it?" Perny grinned.

Sherlock had to take another sip. "It tastes like fizzy drink. No wonder you all drink them so easily."

At that moment, John walked over. He was holding the same drink as Sherlock, though his appeared to be blue. As he reached the small group, John offered Sherlock a small smile though his eyes looked worried when they noticed the alcoholic beverage. In spite of himself, Sherlock was pleased with this reaction and allowed himself to gulp down more of the liquid.

"You've almost finished that." Perny was smiling again. "Want another one, Holmes?"

Sherlock glanced down at the near empty bottle. "I guess. Uh… Thanks."

Perny turned in the direction of the house and took Lestrade by the arm as he did so. Sherlock and John were left alone for a moment, to his surprise. He glanced over at him sheepishly to find that John was glaring at him. Sherlock assumed it was because of the fact that he was drinking despite his promise not to, but he honestly didn't care. He knew it was considered "bitchy" to act this way, but quite frankly he felt as though John deserved it.

"Didn't know you drank, _Holmes_." John practically spat.

Sherlock shrugged. Two could play at this game. "You obviously don't know me very well, then."

He saw John gulp and his eyes turn glassy; this comment had upset him. John hated it when they fought or argued. To be perfectly honest, so did Sherlock. And he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol already affecting his brain or if he just didn't care about how John felt right now. He swallowed the final remnant of his drink and pushed past John carelessly, heading toward Perny who was re-emerging from his house.

He traded Sherlock's empty bottle for a new one. "Here you are."

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Perny?"

"Holmes, everyone will be drunk by the end of the night. Why don't you be normal for once and join in?"

Sherlock scowled, but took a swig from his bottle anyway, wandering into the house. He wasn't sure what he was looking for exactly, just aimlessly walked past groups of teenagers all drinking and laughing and chatting. He entered a room which he assumed was normally the living room to find that no lights were on apart from what could be considered "party lights". The music was the loudest in this room and a whole lot of people were dancing up against each other in a sexual manner. Disinterested, Sherlock weaved through the mass of limbs and found himself climbing a staircase.

"Sherlock!" A familiar voice called.

He turned to see Lestrade. "What do you want?"

"Roland asked me to bring you another drink." He answered, seeming distressed.

Sherlock took his third drink. "These things aren't good; I already feel tipsy."

And he did. The alcohol was affecting his brain a lot faster than he thought it would. He was unable to deduce things as easily as he normally could and his speech was becoming slurred and "dumbed down". He could feel himself growing incredibly depressed, too. This was so strange. He continued up the stairs.

"Roland knows." Lestrade blurted out.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"I'm sorry… I don't know how… But he knows… Watch yourself, mate."

With a stiff nod and anxious gulp, Sherlock blindly pushed past the people blocking the way of the staircase, trying to reach the top. How did Perny find out? The only person who knew was Lestrade, but he was Sherlock's friend; he would never tell anybody something like that. God, now both he and John were definitely in for a good thrashing from all the boys…

Sherlock suddenly felt horribly sick. He was beginning to sweat, his head ached and he thought he might vomit at any moment. Starting to panic, he frantically began opening doors of the rooms upstairs in search of a bathroom. God, why did Perny have to be so rich that his house has a million different rooms?

He turned the door knob on the room that he was certain would have a bathroom to discover an empty bedroom. Judging by the lack of furniture and decoration in the room, Sherlock figured it was a guest room. There was another door visible. Silently praying, Sherlock opened it and almost cried with relief when he saw a small sink and toilet. He splashed water onto his face and almost instantly felt better. He still felt nauseated, so he hung his head down, staring down into the drain, water dripping from his curls.

After a few minutes, Sherlock could feel his stomach relaxing and he straightened up in means of leaving to go back downstairs. Just as he reached for the door, he heard the sound of someone giggling. To be more precise, he heard Molly Hooper giggling. Frowning, he figured she must have brought Lestrade upstairs to engage in drunken sexual relations. To be quite honest, Sherlock didn't really fancy the idea of sitting in the bathroom listening, so he decided to interrupt them and then make a hasty escape.

Sherlock turned the door handle. The hinge creaked as it swung open. And there sat on the bed was John and Molly. Holding each other. Kissing. Passionately. Sherlock couldn't move; he was in a trance. His boyfriend was snogging another girl, at Perny's party, right in front of him. John seemed to have noticed Sherlock's presence because he suddenly pushed Molly backward. He stared across the room at him with wide eyes and Molly started to giggle. She was completely drunk and covering her mouth like she had just been caught in the cookie jar.

Sherlock gulped and stared. "J-John…?"

"Sherlock!" John stood. "I know it sounds cliché, but I can explain!"

Molly seemed confused. "Huh? You and Sherlock?"

Sherlock blinked back tears and bolted for the door. He had to get away from John. He was nothing but a lying, filthy cheat. Why would he do that? Why would he tell Sherlock he loved him and then go and make out with another girl? Was it something Sherlock did? Was he not good enough? For once he actually couldn't deduce anything about the situation and the alcohol he had been drinking was really getting to his head now.

As he ran down the stairs, bumping into people, he could hear John not too far behind him.

"Wait! Sherlock, wait!" He shouted above the music.

Sherlock wrenched the front door open and sprinted out onto the street. "I have to get home!"

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><p>Inside 221B, Mrs Hudson was dozing off in front of the telly when Sherlock burst through the door. He could feel his arms flapping at his sides. This was something he very rarely did. The last time he did this it had been because he found Mrs Hudson unconscious due to having a hanging pot plant fall onto her head. It was the single most terrifying moment of his life; he thought he had lost another mother.<p>

Mrs Hudson awoke from her snooze as Sherlock's feet creaked on the floorboards. "Locky? What's the matter?"

"Just leave me be, Mrs Hudson."

Sherlock headed swiftly down the hallway to his bedroom and closed the door, pressing his back up against it. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing, but all he could see was John taking Molly in his arms. John pressing their lips together. John rubbing his hands over her shoulders. John with a girl, John with a girl, John with a girl…

He knew he had promised a lot of people not to do this again. Mrs Hudson had cried for weeks over the last incident and Mycroft continuously checked up on him every day. Sherlock knew the right thing to do would be to give Luke a call and talk it all out with him, but he thought to himself, perhaps he didn't want to. Perhaps he didn't want to try and deal with this properly. Perhaps he wanted to take the easy way out.

Sherlock's box still remained in its traditional place underneath his bed and he retrieved it, flipping open the metal latches. Seating himself on the carpet, he leant against the wall and carefully removed the tools he would need. First, he took a cotton swab and spread rubbing alcohol over the main artery down his left forearm. It didn't take long for his veins to become prominent and he grinned bitterly.

After waiting a few more moments, Sherlock was ready for the final step in his decision. For a moment he considered all the people this act would affect. Mrs Hudson would be beyond devastated. His brother would blame himself. And John… Well, fuck John. John deserved every ounce of emotional pain that he was going to feel when he received the news. Sherlock was convinced that he and Perny had planned this whole thing all along with Molly and the others simply to drive Sherlock over the edge. John probably wasn't even gay.

"Good riddance." Sherlock hissed under his breath.

He gingerly slid the construction razor between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger and pressed it down hard onto his forearm. Instead of ripping the blade down like normal, Sherlock dug it down as deep as he possibly could and very slowly began to drag the razor down his artery. The blood formed almost instantly each time a new piece of skin broke. There was so much of it that Sherlock couldn't even see the actual wound itself. He knew that he had done this correctly. His consciousness was slipping. There was blood all over him and carpet, pooling around his legs. It was finally over.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_OH GOD PLEASE DON'T KILL ME D: I'm sorry, I know this chapter was awful. But unfortunately that is how I chose to write this fic. There will be more chapters, don't worry. Try not to panic too much. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Please send me reviews. :) Again, I'm so so sorry…._

_I.B.I.S.H!_


	9. The Mess I Made

**Author's Note:**  
><em>Well, shit. It's been five months… I wouldn't be surprised if you all got the email that I've finally updated and turned your noses up. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't even bother to read this chapter. My sincerest apologies, let me assure you. I've been really lazy as of late. With life in general. But I'm not giving up on this fic, EVER. I love it too much.<br>I also want you to know that I am currently in the process of editing the whole thing. So I will be updating chapters 1 & 2 as well as posting this one. If you feel like it, please read them. I think they are a lot better since I edited them. I hope you do, too.  
>Anywho, here is chapter 9. I personally like it. It's definitely quite sad. I won't lie. And Mycroft is in it, and I've never written Mycroft before, so I hope his character isn't awful. Please enjoy and review! And thank you so much for sticking it out with me. You're all amazing, you really are.<br>And now, for John's Point of View._

**Disclaimer:**  
><em>Still don't own Sherlock. But considering Moffat and Gatiss are constantly trying to kill us with their TV Shows (Don't get me started about this season of Doctor Who…) I think I should bloody well own it! :P<em>

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><p>"J-John…?"<p>

John stared across the room at Sherlock standing in the doorway of the ensuite. He couldn't believe what he had just done. He had allowed for Molly to drag him into this bedroom and then kissed her. No, snogged her. He had just snogged Molly Hooper. Right in front of his boyfriend. He wasn't even sure he had been thinking when he did it. Was he even really there? Was it actually him kissing Molly or someone else? Because he barely had any recollection of actually doing it; he just knew he had from the look on Sherlock's face.

John panicked. "Sherlock! I can explain!"

"Huh?" Molly faced him.

He watched Sherlock practically run out of the bedroom and immediately went after him, leaving Molly on her own. John could see him pushing past crowds of people as he dashed through the house and urged his legs to move as fast as they could. He had to talk to Sherlock and explain to him why this had all happened.

"Wait!" He called desperately. "Sherlock, wait!"

Sherlock had reached the front door. "I have to get home!"

John continued to chase after him as he left the house and ran out onto the road. As he finally caught up to Sherlock, John reached out and grasped his sleeve. The other boy turned to face him, tears dripping down his cheeks and John was instantly heartbroken. How could he be so gutless? How could he do this to the person he loved?

"This wasn't supposed to happen." John felt his voice cracking.

"You mean I wasn't supposed to see? It was supposed to be private?" Sherlock shot back.

"No! I mean I wasn't supposed to kiss her! I didn't want to kiss her!"

"Right. So she came onto you did she? It was all her idea? John, I know all of these excuses. I have heard enough of these conversations between other students at school to know that they're usually a load of fucking bullshit, too."

John tightened his grip on Sherlock's shirt. "No. I fucking love you."

"I thought you did… But I was wrong." Sherlock pried John's fingers off of his shirt and continued to walk down the street, slowly breaking into a run.

"Sherlock!" John called, forcing himself to sprint.

He caught up with him and Sherlock spun around. "Leave me alone! I don't want anything to do with you! You're a liar and a cheater! It's over!"

"I'm begging you! Please!"

John reached out to grasp Sherlock by his wrist and could feel his throat tightening. He couldn't lose Sherlock, even if he did deserve it. He knew after what he had just done, he had earned for his heart to be completely and utterly pulverised. But Sherlock... Sherlock was his whole life. He had become John's main reason for existence, despite himself. John honestly did not see life without Sherlock. It was as if they were fate. No, Sherlock was lying. He was just really upset. He didn't mean this. It wasn't over.

"John," Sherlock stared at him and swallowed hard. "I am asking you as calmly as I can. I can't see you right now, so please leave me be."

He shook John off of his wrist and started trudging down the street once again. John let him go. There was no point in following him and continuing his pathetic begging. If anything it was lessening his chances of forgiveness. So with a deep breath, John turned on his heel and marched back toward Roland's house. He didn't really want to go back there and have to face neither Roland nor Molly right now. But to be perfectly honest, he just wanted to go and drink away his sorrows. Maybe a few more WKD's would make him feel better.

Inside the house, the party was still very much happening. If anything it had gotten even more rowdy and full of life. John could see half naked girls everywhere and new happy couples together. They were all totally oblivious to what had just happened. None of them had any idea. They just continued on with their party without a care in the world. John hated them. How could they all be so happy when he was in agony?

"John! There you are!"

He felt rage growing within his chest at the sound of Roland's voice. He couldn't believe that the wanker even had the nerve to speak to him right now. How could he act like everything was totally fine and normal with the knowledge that John had just hurt Sherlock to the point that he would probably go and harm himself? Roland was a sick bastard.

John faced him and balled his fists. "What the hell do you want?"

"What did I do to deserve that?" Roland answered with mock hurt.

"You know what you bloody did! Your stupid fucked up plan! I can't believe I did it! All because I was too scared of you! Well I tell you what, Roland, I –"

"Oh, how did that go by the way?" He was grinning sadistically. "I imagine Holmes has already topped himself by now. Marvellous."

John saw red. With every ounce of the adrenaline and anger in his body, he drew back his arm and landed a forceful punch square against Roland's nose. He watched as blood almost instantly rushed out and began staining Roland's white dress shirt. What had he done? He wasn't a violent person. This wasn't like him at all. But he still couldn't shake the intense rage he was feeling.

Roland spat out some blood and managed another evil smile. "Better go and check on him, John. We all know how much you love him."

Scowling, John punched Roland a second time, this time in the jaw, and began sprinting through the house toward the door. Roland was right. He needed to find Sherlock and make sure he was okay. He had a history of cutting himself quite badly in times of distress and John was going to do anything to make sure that tonight he didn't. John didn't think he was worth self-harming over and Sherlock needed to know that.

Once he was out on the street again, John ran faster than he ever had in his entire life. If he was quick enough, he would reach Sherlock's flat in five minutes. It had been exactly ten minutes since Sherlock had left. Surely that wasn't enough time to kill yourself?! John prayed to God that it wasn't. Even if Sherlock had already tried, he was begging that he could get there in time to call an ambulance or even attend to the wounds himself.

John reached 221B, Baker Street in record time and stood on the door step wheezing as he knocked to be let in. The door opened almost instantly and John was greeted with both a surprised and pleased Mrs Hudson.

"John! I'm so glad you're here. Locky's in a bit of a grump, I thought – "

"Where is he? His room? He must be."

John pushed past her and made his way through the flat to Sherlock's bedroom. Without a thought, he pushed open the door and for a moment stopped dead in his tracks. Blood. There was so much blood. And it surrounded Sherlock's unconscious body lying on the floor. John screamed for Mrs Hudson to call an ambulance and forced himself to kneel beside Sherlock. He picked up his left arm and saw the vertical wound that was still consistently bleeding. Thinking quickly, John tore his shoe and sock off and wrapped the garment as tightly as he could around the wound. He felt Sherlock's neck for a pulse and thankful tears welled up as he discovered he was still alive.

Mrs Hudson rushed into the room then and was by Sherlock's side immediately. She cradled his head in her lap and sobbed hysterically, wailing his name. John watched in horror. He was responsible for this. He was responsible for Sherlock taking a razor to his arm and attempting to kill himself. He was responsible for the mind-numbing, emotional pain that Mrs Hudson was feeling. He hated himself.

Unconsciously, John took a step back and felt his bare heel hit something cool and metallic. He looked down and his mouth fell open. There at his feet lay an open metal box filled with what John could only describe as a "self-harming kit". It was filled with all sorts of sharp implements as well as materials to look after wounds. Wordlessly and now oblivious to the sound of Mrs Hudson's weeping, John closed the lid and felt a choked sob escape him as he read the words "SHERLOCKS PUNISHMENT" marked in permanent texta.

He could hear the sound of wailing sirens growing nearer as an ambulance sped up Baker Street. The next few minutes were a blur. John remained standing in front of the box while he watched paramedics take Sherlock away with Mrs Hudson and race to the hospital. He couldn't believe this was happening. It wasn't happening. How could it be?

Another paramedic came up to John and threw an orange blanket over his shoulders which he knew was for shock. He allowed for the man to lead him through the flat and outside where he was told he would be taken home by a cab in a few minutes. John suddenly remembered Sherlock's box and struggled against the paramedics to run back inside.

"Hold on, mate. Not so fast. You need to take it easy." He held onto John firmly.

John kicked his legs out. "No! Please! You have to get rid of it! Burn it! Throw it into a river! Please!"

"What are you talking about?"

"His box! It's filled with stuff he cuts with. Please, you have to! It's in his room!"

The paramedic signalled for another of the men to go inside and John was told to go home. Still clutching onto the blanket, he climbed into the cab and practically whispered his address to the driver. The cab then took off down the street and all John could do was weep.

* * *

><p>"I uh, I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes…"<p>

John glanced over the creamy white admin desk at the receptionist and tried his hardest to crack a friendly smile. She pursed her lips at him and he heard fingernails tapping away at the keyboard of her computer. According to her name tag, she went by "Astrid". She looked to be in her mid-forties, with slightly aged skin and greying hair pulled back into a bun. John could tell that she hated her job. He didn't blame her.

"Relative?" She asked bluntly.

"Uh no… Um… Friend."

She raised an eyebrow. "I see. Mr Holmes is not fit for visitors right now. You need permission from a family member."

"Well I'm sure his adopted mother would let me…" John chewed his lip. "Maybe…You could get a nurse or something to go with me and ask?"

"I can. Just a moment."

John thanked her briefly and took a step back from the desk, staring around the room at his surroundings. St Bartholomew's hospital was quite plain in its interior designing, but somewhat welcoming with its simple white and blue walls and cream furniture. There were a few peeling posters advertising non-smoking and different types of skin cancer, but the administration room mostly consisted of plastic chairs and a water coolant.

It was deadly quiet. A few doctors and nurses passed through on their way to wards and separate departments but the room was otherwise silent. John had a sudden thought that he might like to work here one day. Maybe after he had served time in the Army he could become a General Practitioner or something.

"You're here to see Mr Holmes?" A timid voice asked.

John turned to see a young looking female nurse. "Yeah I am. John Watson."

"Okay, follow me."

She led him through what felt like a million different white and blue corridors before they reached a ward named "Waylon's". It was a simple section of the hospital featuring two long corridors filled with rooms and a large reception desk in the middle. The nurse continued walking until they reached a room with the number "221" on it.

"How ironic…" John muttered.

"Hm?" The nurse asked.

"Nothing, nothing."

"Now, I'm just going to go and let the adopted mother know that you're here and see if it's okay with her. You wait here."

John leant back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. He was unsure as to what outcome he was hoping for from this visit. The first, selfish thing that came to mind was for Sherlock to forgive him and take him back. But he knew that the chances were less than slim. So he decided his main priority was to explain to Sherlock how it all happened. He had to tell him everything about Roland and his plan, make him understand.

The door opened and Mrs Hudson stepped out, her cheeks tear stained and her eyes puffy. She wrapped her arms around John and he awkwardly hugged back, a lump forming in his throat out of guilt. God, the poor woman. She didn't deserve this. She was such a good mother to Sherlock. And it was all his fault that she was hurting like this.

Mrs Hudson pulled away and patted him on the cheek. "You're a good boy, John. Thank you so much."

He bit his lip to keep it from trembling and felt a single tear dribble down the cheek she had patted. With nerves dominating his body, John forced himself to move and stepped inside the hospital room. The nurse passed him with a small smile and then John was alone. All of the furniture was completely white. There was a bed, obviously, a chair, and a telly. John allowed himself to focus on the familiar shape situated in the white bed. Sherlock had his back turned and was curled into the foetal position, the only part of his body visible his mass of dark curls.

Wordlessly, John went and sat down on the chair that was facing Sherlock's back. He fought the natural urge to reach out and touch him. He couldn't do that now. The harsh reality stung and John winced, the lump returning to his throat. His face began to crumple and a shaky sob escaped him in spite of himself. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Oh God, Sherlock, I'm so fucking sorry." He blubbered, swiping at his now snotty nose. "You don't understand… Roland, he… He's messed up!"

There was a rustle of sheets being moved. "You're just working that out now?"

John glanced up in hopes that Sherlock would be looking at him, but he had just shifted in the bed to stare at the ceiling. His arms were now resting on his chest, folded, and John could clearly see the fresh, white bandage around Sherlock's arm. It was the worst possible reminder of what John had done last night.

"You're so lucky I found you." John whispered.

"Ha." Sherlock scoffed. "I wouldn't call it lucky."

"What do you mean?! You would have died! You cut vertically! I saw all the blood!"

"Unfortunately, according to the nurse, I only hit a vein. It wouldn't have actually killed me. I've done that numerous times before."

John blinked back more tears. "How can you talk about it so casually?! It was the most horrible experience of my life!"

"You and me both," Sherlock spat venomously. "And I would appreciate it if you left now."

"Please! At least let me explain!"

"There's nothing to explain!" Sherlock snapped. "You cheated on me and no, I will not forgive you. I know what happened; I'm not stupid. I knew Roland had a plan that involved us. But I thought that if you loved me like you say you do, you wouldn't have actually gone along with it."

John continued to weep. "Sherlock, please! He was going to beat me up! Really bad! I was terrified of him; you don't understand!"

"Oh, I understand." Sherlock said quietly. "You are a coward. I would have happily taken a good kicking if it meant not hurting you. But obviously I don't mean the same…"

Bowing his head, John allowed himself to cry freely. He could feel his shoulders shaking violently and hear his gasping sobs. He could taste the saltiness on his lips and see the tear drops landing in a small water stain on his trousers. All he wanted was for Sherlock to understand. Yes, he had been a coward and quite selfish. But his intentions weren't to hurt Sherlock. John would have thought that he would understand his reasons.

"I didn't want to hurt you." He whispered.

Sherlock's voice was even quieter. "Then why did you?"

"What I did… I know it was me being a coward. But that's just how I am. I'm really sorry, Sherlock. I… I do love you. I really do."

He didn't answer, but slowly rolled over onto his side so he was facing John. Those familiar grey eyes stared at him full of sadness and John immediately looked away from discomfort. That was when he replied.

"Look at me."

John felt his lip tremble. "I can't…"

"Please. I need you to say it while looking at me."

John forced himself to very slowly shift his head and look at Sherlock. He brought his eyes to his chin and then moved them up toward Sherlock's eyes. The sadness still remained in them, but John willed himself to stay focused. He could see tears forming in Sherlock's eyes, brimming at the eyelids and then a single tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. Without hesitating, John reached out and slid his thumb over the warm water, wiping it away.

His voice was choked. "Sher… Sherlock Holmes, I… I love you. I know it's hard to believe right now, but I do."

"So you don't like Molly…?"

"No!" John felt his mouth drop. "Not at all! I felt nothing when I kissed her. It didn't mean anything."

Sherlock reached out and gently touched John's hand. "I just…"

"I'm gay, remember? It's not something I can change overnight…"

"Yes, I definitely know that." Sherlock grinned and John rolled his eyes. "What?"

"Timing, Sherlock."

"Not good?"

"Bit not good, yeah."

Sherlock sighed and lazily threaded his fingers through John's, making him smile tightly. Whilst it was nice that Sherlock was acting somewhat forgiving, John didn't understand why and the tightening sadness still remained in his chest as a fierce reminder of what he had done the night before. God, he would never forgive himself for this. He didn't _deserve_ forgiveness. As much as he wanted Sherlock back, a part of John also wanted Sherlock to never speak to him again.

"You're right." Sherlock murmured.

John frowned. "About what?"

"You don't deserve forgiveness."

"How did you… Never mind… I know I don't…"

"But I forgive you anyway. That is if you promise to never hurt me again."

Tears threatened to form again and John squeezed Sherlock's hand tightly, raising it and bringing it to his lips. He rested his forehead gently against Sherlock's knuckles and felt his face screwing up. Ugh, he was such a cry baby.

"I promise. I swear on my whole life." He whimpered.

"Kiss me. Please."

John gulped. "I'm not sure that's a good idea…"

"_Please_."

Hesitantly, John shuffled his chair forward and felt his face burn as he leant in close to Sherlock. Their noses brushed together and his heart started to pound. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. Sherlock's hand cupped his cheek and the scratchy surface of his bandage rubbed against John's skin. Their lips pressed together and John allowed himself to shakily reach out and twist his fingers in Sherlock's hair, feeling the familiar silky ringlets.

Sherlock broke away for a few moments, exhaling sharply, and then reverted back for more. John could feel his neediness. Sherlock was pulling on John's lip aggressively, prying his mouth open to let his tongue explore. He grasped John's face tightly in one hand and the other had a firm grip around the nape of his neck. In spite of himself, John felt a familiar ache in his crotch and dug the heel of his palm into his thigh.

There was a short cough. "Sorry for interrupting..."

John jumped away from Sherlock instantly and the two of them focused their attention on the door way where the voice had come from. A young man stood at the door. He looked young, John guessed maybe 22, with floppy brown hair. He was dressed in ripped skinny jeans, Converse and a "Back to the Future" t-shirt. He smiled politely at John and nodded over at Sherlock.

"So this is John then?" He asked, grinning slightly.

"Yes."

"Cool, cool. So how are you, John?"

"Sorry um, who are you exactly…?" John glanced at Sherlock who appeared calm.

The young man ventured closer, his hand outstretched. "Oh, sorry! I'm Luke. Has Sherlock mentioned me before?"

"My counsellor," Sherlock interjected.

"Oh, yeah… Um, good to meet you…" John shook his hand.

He could feel his face flushing from the knowledge that Luke had just walked in on them snogging. He didn't even know this guy, and yet he knew of John and was totally cool with seeing them kiss. And not to mention whilst Sherlock was wearing a white gown, lying in a hospital bed from an attempted suicide. God, he could die of embarrassment…

"There's no need to feel embarrassed, John. Luke knows everything." Sherlock stated simply.

John felt his eyes bug out. "Oh wow! Jeez! Because you know, that's gonna make me feel better!"

"Secret's safe with me, guys." Luke chuckled, sitting on the foot of the bed. "However, I think Sherlock and I need to have a little chat."

With a quick nod, John stood and made toward the door, unable to look Luke in the eye. Outside, Mrs Hudson was sat on one of the flimsy plastic chairs holding what appeared to be coffee in a polystyrene cup. She patted her hand on the seat beside her. John hesitated at first, but then sat down, forcing a tight smile. He just couldn't get over how much hurt he had caused this poor woman…

"It's not your fault, dear." Mrs Hudson said gently.

John gulped. She knew. "It is… I'm such an idiot."

"I've raised that boy since he was a little toddler. When he first started doing this, I blamed myself. I thought maybe it was because I wasn't kind enough or gentle with him… But it's not. It's nobody's fault. No matter what you do. Because once Locky makes the decision to do it, he does it."

John bowed his head and let this sink in. Even though Sherlock was in control of his own actions, he still felt horribly guilty. If he'd just ignored Roland and not gone along with his stupid plan, none of this would have happened. Sherlock would not be in hospital from a suicide attempt. Mrs Hudson would not be distraught. Everything would be okay…

Mrs Hudson cleared her throat. "Mycroft is coming to see him soon."

"He's not going to like, come and bash me up something is he?" John felt anxiety pooling in his stomach.

"Oh goodness, no!" The older woman chuckled. "He thinks you're good for him, actually."

Just as John was about to reply, he noticed in the corner of his eye that a male figure was striding up the corridor. He allowed himself to look up and saw that it was indeed a man, looking to be in his mid-twenties. He wore an immaculate, well cut grey suit and was brandishing an umbrella by the handle, swinging it gracefully. Huh. Had it been raining?

The older man grew nearer and John noticed he had caramel coloured hair cut neatly around the frame of his face. He wore a very grim expression on his face, his blue eyes completely unreadable. John figured it was Mycroft. And fuck, he felt terrified.

"Hello, Mycroft, dear." Mrs Hudson greeted, standing from her seat.

Mycroft rested his hand on her arm, obviously concerned. "Please assure me that you are alright."

"I'm fine. Sherlock's just talking to Luke in his room; they shouldn't be too much longer."

Mycroft focused his eyes on John. "Ah, young John Watson, I presume?"

"Y-yeah," John cleared his throat and stood. They shook hands. "Yeah that's me. Um, pleasure to meet you, er… Sir…"

"No need for formalities, John. You may address me as Mycroft. After all, you have been quite… Close to my brother for a substantial amount of time now."

John thought he was going to piss himself. Mycroft was very intimidating… Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, Luke came out of Sherlock's room looking rather weary. He gave everyone a small smile and joined them.

"You must be Mycroft," he said, stretching his hand out. "Sherlock's pretty grumpy in there, so you've been warned."

Mycroft smiled tightly. "May I see him now? Or is it best I wait until his mood improves?"

"Nah, go for it. From what he was going on about there, he'll be grumpy for a while."

John watched as Mycroft entered the room and then retreated back to his seat, holding his head in his hands. Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to be so stupid? It was his fault that they were all sitting here in the hospital taking turns in seeing Sherlock. It was his fault that Luke and Mycroft had to probably inconvenience themselves to come and visit. His goddamn fault. _All _of it.

"Don't beat yourself up too much, mate." Luke's voice sounded beside him.

John didn't move. "Why not? If I hadn't been so bloody stupid, this wouldn't have happened."

"It's not your fault, though. Okay, so you made a mistake out of fear. So what? If I had been in your position, I'd have been pretty scared of that guy, too."

"It still doesn't make what I did okay…"

"Of course not, but Sherlock has forgiven you. So accept that and use this experience as a way of knowing not to stuff up again. Time heals everything. You two will be fine. He loves you quite a lot."

"Yeah?" John shyly lifted his head, a smile threatening to show.

"Trust me, John, I know he does. He tells me _everything_." Luke smiled warmly.

John glanced over at Mrs Hudson who was also smiling, her eyes twinkling slightly. Did he just get two people's blessings at once? It certainly seemed that way. He couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was going to be okay after all.

"Sherlock requests your company." Mycroft emerged from the room, staring at John.

Wordlessly, he nodded and sprung up from his chair. A small amount of glee filled him, having previously convinced himself that he and Sherlock were most definitely going to work out. He smiled as widely as he dared as he entered the room, only to be greeted with a very forlorn looking Sherlock.

"John," he whispered, "I need… I need you to come and sit with me."

Confused and anxious, John did so. He sat on the edge of the bed and settled his arm comfortably around Sherlock's shoulders, resting their heads together. Sherlock laid his hand over his and John's stomach went cold. He had a very bad feeling about this.

"What's wrong?" John murmured, unsure if he wanted the answer.

"We have to break up."

John's heart stopped for a second. "What?"

"I'm sorry…" Sherlock faced John, his eyes watering. "Luke told me I have to stay in the mental health ward for three months. This is all my fault. I'm so sorry."

John swallowed the lump in his throat. "But… I can wait for you!"

"Do you really think there's any point? Do you really think it will work if we don't see each other for three months? I won't be allowed to have visitors unless it's my family."

"I… But… It can work!" John insisted. "I know it can! I'll wait! I love you!"

"Please… Don't make this any harder for me…" A tear slipped from Sherlock's eye.

"W-what about when you're released?"

"I will do my best to win you back. But I just think… It's best if we break up for the time being…"

John nodded, now unable to speak. His throat burned with the threat of tears and he could feel his eyes watering and his lip quivering. He knew it was too good to be true for Sherlock to forgive him. The whole world was against them being together. No matter how hard they tried to be happy, someone or something had to come along and ruin it.

"You can… Call me, you know. I'm allowed to have my phone. Calls only, though."

John slid off the bed. "I don't know if I can… I might… I have to go…"

Before Sherlock could respond, John left the room, tears blinding his vision. He went straight past Mrs Hudson, Luke and Mycroft. He didn't even bother to say goodbye to them. His body was shaking with adrenaline. Not because he was angry, but because he was bottling up so much sadness. He needed to let it out. He needed to get home.

Outside of the hospital, John called up Harriet. He knew he could probably walk home, it wasn't far. But he needed to talk this out with her. He needed someone's support right now. She was apparently staying with a friend at the moment who worked almost every day, and would probably be bored enough to go for a drive. He hoped.

"Harry," he blurted into the phone when she answered. "I'm at St Barts. Can you come pick me up?"

"Oh my God, are you okay?! What happened?!" She screeched.

"Please, just hurry."

The line went dead almost instantly and John pushed his phone back down into his pocket, leaning against the brick wall. It didn't take long for Harriet to arrive in her beaten up old Ford. She pulled up beside him and he didn't hesitate wrenching the door open and throwing himself into the passenger seat. She glanced at him, her expression concerned.

"John… Are you okay?"

That was all it took. With a shake of his head, he felt the hot tears dribbling down his cheeks uncontrollably and his body shaking. An arm curled around his shoulder, but this only caused him to cry harder. A loud sob escaped him, and normally he would feel embarrassed, but right now he didn't care. He was so heart broken. He was so angry at himself for letting all of this happen. Now he had lost Sherlock permanently. He was an idiot. He didn't deserve him.

"It's over, Harriet…" John wept. "Sherlock and I are over."


	10. Asleep

**Author's Note:**  
><em>So. I finally got back to this AU after a year of no updates. I am forever sorry that it's taken so long for me to update. I genuinely have no excuses except for the fact that I had no motivation or inspiration to continue. But I finally wrote this chapter! And I've planned out the rest of them. Hopefully this fic will be completed in 2014 (: I hope you don't hate me too much for not updating in forever, and I hope this chapter is good! Thanks so much for sticking by me. You're all wonderful.<em>

_This chapter has talk of suicide/self harm for trigger warnings. There is phone sex, also. _

_I would also like to add a few other warnings regarding characters in case you're curious when reading. Firstly, Luke hasn't stopped being supportive, he purely is allowing Sherlock what he needs. I did it on purpose. And another part, which you will find out, isn't as "hasty" as it may seem. I did it on purpose also, and as you read on you will see why. I hope those things don't bother you._

_I also mention school uniform change as it's the summer term. I was unable to find a reliable source via google regarding what six formers ect wore during that term. I'm Australian and over here we have a summer and winter uniform which means pants/long skirts in winter and dresses/shorts in summer. So I used that. Just to clear that up. I hope it doesn't bother anybody._

This chapter isn't very long, either. I hope that's okay. I usually pressure myself to write at least 3,500 words per chapter, but I didn't feel like this chapter needed to be very long. I wrote what I wanted to. And I hope it leaves you wanting to know more. :)

**Also a quick recap:** _Sherlock attempted suicide after John kissed Molly at Perny's birthday party, who threatened to beat him up if he did not comply. Sherlock broke up with John officially when he was told he needed to stay in a mental ward for 3 months._

_Enjoy! Please._

**Disclaimer:** _Sherlock is not mine._

* * *

><p>When Sherlock came to the conclusion that John obviously was not going to ever call him back during the period he would be staying in the mental health ward, he spent the majority of his time asleep. When he slept, much to his convenience he did not dream, which meant he was able to temporarily forget about how he and John were officially broken up. When he was asleep, he did not have to face Mrs Hudson and her constant tear filled eyes, or Mycroft and his stupid umbrella. He didn't have to see Luke, or the other psychiatrists, or the nurses forcing him to eat and take medication, or the doctor's. When he was asleep, everything was at peace. He almost didn't exist.<p>

"Still hasn't called you back then?"

Luke's voice awoke Sherlock from his trance like state as he stared out the window, gazing upon the rain as it fell miserably onto the pavement. He had been sitting with Sherlock in silence for a good half an hour now, as he hadn't bothered to speak to Luke once since he entered the room.

"Come on, mate. You'll put me out of a job if you don't talk." Luke said almost frantically.

Sherlock shifted his gaze to his knees that were tucked beneath his chin. "No."

"No?"

"He hasn't."

"And how does that make you feel?"

Sherlock glanced over at Luke. "Do you know what it's like to need someone?"

"We don't need people, Sherlock. We think we do. It's a mind trick. Relying on people is unhealthy."

"I shall rephrase. Do you know what it's like to _think _you need someone?"

"Of course." Luke replied slowly. "I think everybody does."

"Then you should know that it makes me feel like shit. I feel like I'm on fire. I feel like I'm dying. Okay?"

Sherlock glared at his counsellor, and though he was sad, he felt too incredibly numb in order to actually feel that physically. He was stuck inside a fucking mental health ward with nothing to do every single day. He hated the people there, both patients and staff. They were all as daft as each other and incredibly dull. He didn't belong here. He didn't attempt suicide because the therapy stopped working. He attempted suicide because he made that decision and his plan was not to fail.

"Do you feel like self harming at all?" Luke queried.

Sherlock grunted. "All the time. You know that. But that's not what this is about and you know it. You know that I have the skills to find other ways of coping. I wanted to die that night. I wasn't searching for a coping mechanism."

"We don't want you to try and kill yourself again, mate."

"All of you psychologists are so stupid. If somebody wants to die, desperately, and tries to kill themselves, you can bet they will try again. You can't stop somebody from feeling suicidal and you can't stop somebody from attempting. It's their conscious decision in that moment. Nobody can change the way a person thinks, apart from themselves. You're wasting your time, Luke. I just want to get out of this hell hole."

"… Okay. Well. I think I might leave you to it and give you the space you seem to want. But remember I'll be a phone call away and I'll still be here next week for our usual session."

"Fine." Sherlock grumbled.

"Have a good one, mate…"

Sherlock turned away from his counsellor and continued to stare out of the window. It was so dull here. He wanted to be at home in the sanctuary that was his bedroom where everything familiar was. He wanted to be back with Mrs Hudson. He wanted to be back with John.

Slowly rising from his chair, Sherlock took a few steps only to then collapse face first onto his hospital bed and close his eyes. He may as well just go to sleep after all. It was the only way to pass the time in this place, after all. But just as he was starting to fall into slumber, his phone started to vibrate on the bedside table as if it were ringing. Lazily, Sherlock reached over for it and hit answer; blocked number.

"Hello?"

"… It's me."

Sherlock forgot how to breathe. "J-John…?"

"This was a bad idea. I should go."

"No! Please, John! Just… A few minutes."

John exhaled. "Okay…"

"How are you…?" Sherlock clutched the phone tightly.

"I'm doing okay. You?"

"I miss you like crazy. It's horrible in here."

There was a silence for a moment. Sherlock's stomach was in knots and his mouth was completely dry, making it impossible to swallow. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel his face growing hot.

"Sherlock, I… I miss you too…" John finally replied, his voice shaky.

"So let's get back together. I need you."

"I just… Three months is a long time. You even said so yourself."

"But you love me. Is it the sex? We could always do it over the phone." Sherlock felt himself hardening at the thought.

"It's not just about the sex! Actually it's not even about the se - Jesus Christ, you're hard aren't you?"

Sherlock blushed and accidentally brushed his hand against his crotch. "No." He lied.

"You sodding great liar." John laughed lightly.

"Well, are you going to help with it…?"

A pause. Then a sharp intake of air. "How hard are you?"

"Quite…" Sherlock bit his lip. "Are you?"

"Yeah. Where are you?"

"On my bed in the room." Sherlock laid down. "Are you on yours?"

"Mm." There was a moan. "Are you… Touching yourself?"

Sherlock tightened his grip on the phone, sliding his free hand over the bulge in his pants and letting a quiet moan escape him. He could hear John making similar noises on the other line and he closed his eyes, relishing in those glorious sounds. It had been too long since Sherlock had had phone sex and he had missed it greatly.

"I'll take that moan as a yes." John breathed. "Keep going. I-I want to hear you…"

"Ugh, John… Mm… You too…"

John moaned generously and it went straight to Sherlock's groin. Not being able to control himself any longer, he stuffed his hand into his underwear and gripped his cock harshly. He whimpered. This wouldn't take long. Especially not with John breathing erratically and being unable to keep a control on his constant moaning on the other end of the phone.

"Mm… Say my name…" Sherlock sighed, pumping himself.

"Ah! Sh-Sherlock… Oh God, I'm so close already."

Sherlock groaned, taking a more firm hold of his dick and rubbing hard and fast. He chewed on his lip, eyes shut tightly, and his body beginning to spasm as his climax began to grow nearer and nearer. John was already there, and Sherlock could hear his small cries of ecstasy as the orgasm took its toll.

"Please cum, Sherlock. Please!" John so much as gasped.

"Fuck."

He felt his balls tightening as he started to cum and felt his back arching, a moan of John's name escaping his lips. Sherlock started to quiver in spasms as his orgasm took over, squirt after squirt, making a mess all over his tshirt and hospital bed. With a final grunt, he released his now softening cock and threw his head back onto the pillows, sighing deeply in exhaustion. That had been pretty damn amazing.

"How could you do this?" John's voice suddenly snapped.

Sherlock jumped abruptly. "Do what? What's wrong?"

"You break up with me, but then ask me to call you. When I finally do after a week of deciding, the first thing you want to do is have fucking phone sex. Do you even care about me at all?"

"I thought you wanted to!"

"Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable."

Sherlock frowned. "Now hang on. I'm in here because what you did made me feel like dying. Even though you told me you loved me. You initiated the phone sex yourself by asking me how hard I was. I lied at first because I wasn't sure we should. It seems like you're getting angry at me to cover up something you've done. So, tell me, John. How long?"

"… What do you mean how long?" John sounded nervous.

"How long have you been sleeping with Perny?"

The other line went quiet and Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. He felt sick. His hands were shaking. He hoped he had assumed incorrectly. Surely John wouldn't actually stoop that low and have sex with the person who wanted Sherlock to kill himself. John was better than that.

"I just… Sherlock I'm sorry… It's only happened once, and we didn't have sex, I swear." John was sobbing softly.

Sherlock's face fell instantly. "And I'm the unbelievable one. Why would you want anything to do with him?"

"I was upset and vulnerable and drunk. And Perny was just… He was there. We just made out and felt each other up a bit… It meant nothing."

"I can't believe you, John. He wanted me to kill myself. And why? Because he wanted you to himself?"

John sniffled harshly. "He told me he'd loved me for a long time. But was ashamed that he liked guys. He's an extremely jealous person and so he was really angry when he thought you were a threat. He didn't even actually know you truly liked me until the party…"

"So you decided to get off with him? Jesus fucking Christ. Just… What the _fuck_, John?!" Sherlock could feel himself growing angrier by the minute.

"I'm sorry! I know it's not an excuse that I was drunk, but it honestly meant nothing! I love _you_! I do! I swear it. And I want you. Please believe me."

"I have to go."

A loud sob escaped John. "Please, Sherlock. _Please_."

Raging, Sherlock didn't bother to answer and hit the end button on his phone. Before John could call back, he switched it off. He was so angry that he was shaking. He threw himself off the bed, ignoring the mess he still had all over himself. How could John do this to him? Did he ever love Sherlock at all? Was it all a complete and utter lie?

"Fuck!" He shouted, throwing his phone at wall.

He watched it as it made contact with the hard plaster and then break, bits of plastic falling onto the ground. Sherlock clenched his hands at his sides and tried to remain calm, taking in deep breaths. It was taking everything he had to not find something to self harm with, or even punch the wall. How was he supposed to rid himself of this anger and this pain?

But he knew what to do. It was the only option that was safe and would work the best. Inhaling and exhaling deeply again, Sherlock slowly laid himself down onto the bed and closed his eyes. He allowed his mind to block out all thoughts and then he let his entire body relax. Sleep came easily and quickly.

When he slept, everything was at peace. When he slept he almost didn't exist.

* * *

><p>It was the week after his release and Sherlock hadn't felt this at peace in his whole life. After his phone call with John, he was certain he was going to go insane. For a good month or so, he did nothing but sleep, and when he couldn't sleep he would simply stare at the wall opposite his bed until he felt tired again. On the odd occasion he would eat, but he felt too numb to ever be hungry.<p>

When his last month on the ward began, Luke arrived for his usual visit and basically informed Sherlock he wasn't putting up with his moping crap anymore and that they needed to start working together again and figure out how they were going to turn things around so he could be released as soon as possible. This woke Sherlock up a bit and he decided that he did actually want to get out of that godforsaken place sooner rather than later. So he cooperated for the remaining three weeks and made a lot of progress.

After a whole lot of discussion, and anger and admittedly, tears, Sherlock decided he had forgiven John and still wanted to be with him. What he did still hurt, but Sherlock loved that boy more than anything and honestly believed that he needed him. And now that he would be returning to school, Sherlock was determined to make amends and hopefully get his boyfriend back.

"Are you sure you're ready to go back today?" Mrs Hudson popped her head around Sherlock's door. "You could always take another week off if you need to."

He straightened his tie for the final time. "Positive. I need to go back. It's the last few months of summer term anyway. I need to get as much work done as possible so I can get a good score."

"I'm really proud of you, Locky. This has been such a difficult year."

Sherlock smiled fondly at his adopted mother and went over to hug her before he left. She held onto him tightly for a moment before releasing him. He left the flat in high spirits, hoping he would be able to see John today and at least talk to him and see how he was going. He had missed him so much during his time on the ward and even seeing his handsome face would be enough to make Sherlock's entire day.

The familiar school gates were approaching and Sherlock caught himself almost smiling. Three months stuck inside a hospital clearly messed up your mind if he was excited to be back at school, the bane of his existence. He chuckled to himself, allowing the smile to break across his face as he entered the grounds of Swatchton Grammar. The sun was shining and it was that time of the school year where the boys wore shorts and the girls dresses, but still having to don their navy blazers.

"Hey! Sherlock!"

He turned his head in the direction of Lestrade's voice and waved, watching as his only friend began to jog over to him. Much to his surprise, Anderson and Sally Donovan were following him. How unusual. Perhaps they wished for his help with their chemistry homework?

"What are you two doing here?" He asked bluntly as they approached.

"Nice to see you too, Freak." Sally smiled.

Anderson rolled his eyes. "We wanted to make sure you were okay if that's alright with you."

"Fine."

"We thought you were dead. The least you could do is show some gratitude that we care." Anderson shot back.

Sally laughed. "I think that _is_ Freak's way of showing gratitude."

"It's really not." Sherlock said bluntly.

Lestrade grinned widely. "Glad to have you back, mate."

With another tight smile, Sherlock departed without explanation like he always did and began the walk toward home class. He was admittedly bubbling with excitement, quite unlike him, purely because he wanted to see John. Luke had warned him that getting his hopes up too high was dangerous, that they could easily be crushed, but Sherlock didn't care right now. He was so happy he even nodded at some of the students that were staring at him as he moved swiftly along classrooms and buildings.

It wasn't long until Sherlock reached the room he longed to be in; something he never thought he would say in a million years. Anxiety filled his stomach, and he could feel his fingers tingling at his sides. The morning bell rang. This was it. He was about to see John again. After three months, Sherlock was about to see that gorgeous, blonde boy that he had missed so much.

As he placed is hand on the door knob and started to turn it, Sherlock could hear John's voice inside the room. He was laughing and the sound was like music to Sherlock's ears. He had missed that beautiful chuckle and the way it made a smile spread across his own face, just as it was right now.

With a deep breath, he pulled the door open and instantly scanned the room for John, ignoring all of the faces staring at him because of his return. There was Molly, sitting beside Jakob and Sasha. They had disregarded him completely and were chatting about something on Sasha's phone. Further along was Jonathan and Lachlan. Lachlan was staring right at Sherlock, looking shocked and Jonathon had turned his head to the left. He looked worried about whatever he was now staring at.

Curious, Sherlock continued searching and moved further along the row of separated tables. And there he was. John Hamish Watson. Sitting at his table, staring right ahead at Sherlock, mouth agape, cheeks blushing. Sherlock was certain he could see sweat forming along his forehead. As he smiled at the other boy, John's immediate response was to look down and blush even deeper. And then it made sense. As Sherlock allowed his eyes to glance next to John, he froze, in the middle of the doorway. There was Roland Perny, sitting beside him. Underneath the desk, their fingers were entwined together. Sherlock couldn't breathe.

John and Perny were together.


End file.
